Fëagurth: Ghost Of Death
by Fearuin
Summary: AU. A young Dúnedain Princess, lost and tortured, is corrupted and becomes Princess of the Nazgûl; after living a life of silent peace, and dealing with the grief of dangerous love, things change completely as she is brought to the world of shadow...
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

Hey all! Let me say that I am not a popular author at all, especially in terms of LotR, so I ask you please to be really gentle.

Although I hate to admit it, no, I don't own Tolkien or any of his characters… *sigh*

This fic is actually dedicated to my Middle-Earth biography, so it is an autobiography that includes my friends as well as me. I hope you will be interested as to how my Dúnedain-become-Nazgûl tragedy destroyed much of the hope in Middle-Earth! MWAHAHAHA *Evil cackle*

Watch your back, insignificant Humans! (Kidding… kidding!)

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

Story Specifics: Consider this an AU: In this fic King Eärnur _DID_ decide to take a wife, and so they are my parents in this fic. However, though it is because King Eärnur was childless in the books that the stewards were appointed to govern Gondor, and Elessar was crowned King in the end. But not to worry! I never made it to the throne. I'm just the child of a King *sighs dreamily* …Yeah, I wish.

IMPORTANT NOTE: All the poetry in this story, unless otherwise specified, was written by me! So it may not be very good… though I will be quite flattered if you accuse me of copying the works of a professional writer. You needn't worry though if you're not a poetry fan, there's only the majority in this one chapter. Au revoir! (No, I'm not French… hmmm.)

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

__

In the realm of Men, a city White, a tower tall and fair,

There once would sing a maiden pale upon the flaxen stair;

So proud she stood, a silver circlet donned upon her head,

Where underneath the sunlight shone her hair dark auburn red.

But not now more. For hard she toiled with very scarce a host

And rode she into shadow without fear where she was lost.

Where lies she now, the maiden pale, with white sword at her side?

Yet none may know for years if she has lived or she had died.

Where lie you, Fëaruin? Faithful heir of Eärnur?

The days are dark, so dark and grim… and the City shines no more.

****

~~~ Fëaruin's POV~~~

It has been… many years.

Yes. It has been far too long now… thousands of years? Or a thousand years? How could I remember how much time has passed when I wasn't even myself to encounter it?

Many years has it been since anything occurred that has changed who I am today to what I was that so many loathed. Yet now I have regained that original identity… to no avail. The question now really is who am I in truth? I am Fëaruin Urulókë, the loyal, fiery-hearted daughter of the thirty-third King of Gondor. I am brave, valiant, respected and wonderful!

…Or am I?

No… I am not. I am Fëagurth Durlach, second to Morauko the evil ruler of the Ringwraiths, the Queen I love and serve. And thus she has crowned me her second, the Nazgûl Princess. From the cheerful and loving daughter of mighty Eärnur, seated nigh the throne of my Mother and Father whom I love exceedingly, I now shelter in the lair of the giant spider Shelob, crying myself to sleep in the warmth of the only one that has been brave enough to bear me on his back and sacrifice everything to shield me from the war- my stallion.

How had it ever come to this?

*****

__

In a realm so dark, a city Black, a Tower tall and fell,

There once would wail, unknown to Men, a Princess terrible;

So proud she stands, a black cloak overcast her unseen head,

Where underneath a mask was worn so faceless like the dead.

A servant she of Sauron Lord, corrupted by a ring,

And now she cries so shrill and cold, and no more can she sing.

But where lies now the maiden pale with bow against the sky?

Mayhaps now dead, or mayhaps lives. Yet where then would she fly?

Where lie you, Fëaruin, Eärnur King's only child?

For to the Lady Dark so many lie dead or beguiled.

*****

At the beginning of the third age, Prince Arvedui- who became the last King of the lost realm of Arnor- had married fair and beautiful Fíriel, daughter of Ondoher from Gondor, who had been the last King before my father Eärnur. Together they had two merry children- Aranarth their son, and Kalómë their daughter.

However, their family did not long remain blissful. For only a while had passed when Arnor was destroyed, and the two heirs of Arnor were lost. Although known to only few at the time, not lost completely. And nobody ever knew what role had Kalómë in the suffering and grief of the times that had not yet come to pass… but I know now, for sure. And even so I long to see Kalómë now, because of the respect I had for her, and I love and miss her greatly as a friend.

The next year, my father had brought a fleet to Lindon, defeating the Witch-King at the battle of Fornost, who returned to Mordor. When several years had passed the Nazgûl, whom the Witch-King had gathered, besieged Minas Ithil… the home of some of the Dúnedain, specifically in this tale the home of a lady named Ellasil and her young son Ninrusco. A fair-hearted mortal woman was she with an innocent five-year-old boy, whose husband had passed away during that battle.

Meanwhile, Eärnur my father fought against the Nazgûl that had conquered Minas Ithil, and that year of the fall of Minas Ithil which was afterwards known as Minas Morgul my father found Ellasil and Ninrusco, and perceiving their sorrow and grief pity swept through his heart. Thus he took them back with him to Minas Tirith, hoping their woeful hymns would be forgotten.

Many years later, bliss came to Ellasil and Ninrusco, and they indeed left behind their songs of grief, which pleased my father greatly. He and Ellasil fell in love and married, accepting with much love Ninrusco who had grown strong and brave in the fighting arts, a valiant stepson to him.

It was that year that when young Ninrusco's skills rose in the means of a warrior that I was born.

****

~~~End Fëaruin's POV~~~

__

In Middle-Earth, a country green in Arda rich and vast,

There still would fly through tainted air the Shadow of the Past;

So proud she'd stand, the Spirit Cruel whose name is fell and feared,

Fëagurth, Princess of the Dead, by evil pure revered.

And Durlach she is, Shadow of the Spirit of the Flame

That flickers still; but to what was would never be the same.

Here lies she now, the maiden pale, with dagger in her hand,

The sister of the Ringwraiths whose cold cry none could withstand.

O Fëaruin ashen! Daughter of Eärnur King,

Fëagurth black you are now… and nevermore shall you sing.

To be continued…


	2. Fire Dragon

Author's Note:

First of all I want to confess that I don't know what Eärnur looks like! I assume in this fic that he had brown hair, but if I'm wrong, do tell me so. I don't want to continue rambling on about his brown hair and embarrass myself if I turned out to be wrong! Just thought I'd tell you before a pile of flames come in.

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 1: Fire Dragon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Minas Tirith, maids, servants, friends of Eärnur ran throughout the hallways of the abode of Ellasil, whom seven years before had married the gentle Dúnadan lady through love. A thunderous rumble shook the entire building as they ran to the bedchamber, after hearing the tidings from the cheerful and exceedingly pleased Eärnur. Behind the small crowd a twenty-year-old young Dúnedain named Ninrusco, a warrior of great skill in archery and weaponry with messy red hair in wavy locks below his shoulders, sprinted- or more precisely scrambled- through the small multitude of people, demanding to be first in his curiosity and fright. For in the seventh year of the marriage of his mother Ellasil with his beloved stepfather Eärnur, his first and only blood sister came to life.

"Son of Ellasil! Have entitlements! Me first!" he cried, almost swimming through the people as he picked his way to the front. Part of the young one was horrified at the idea of having a sister- besides, he without a sibling in the first twenty years of his life had absolutely no idea how to be a brother. But another part of him sang, because he was curious and excited to see his mother bear a new life with his own eyes- nothing like which he had ever seen before. Now this life that he had seen grow inside of his mother is born, and is in fact his sister- something which he was partly proud of, and desired to see more than anything at that particular moment in time.

Ninrusco was young and valiant; his name meant slender fox, for he was brave, like his birth father, learning quickly in all forms of weaponry. His movements were swift and graceful, like a slender fox, and his heart was light, always making jests, always filled with compassion and care. His features were mostly descended from Ellasil, his mother- she also had red hair, radiant and blinding as the sun.

Ninrusco braced himself, slightly irritating the crowd behind him, and promptly entered the doorless arch that led to his mother's room.

Ellasil sat on the bed, beads of sweat on her forehead and dampening her hair, causing it to hang below her breast lank and stained. A wrinkle of weariness was upon her brow, although her mouth was curled into a smile of merriment and love, and Eärnur sat with her, holding tight one of her hands. In her arms lay a small bundle, wrapped in a small white blanket, and from it came tiny hiccups that caused love to gush through the crowd at the door.

"Fair morn, my son," Ellasil greeted Ninrusco, who was still beholding the scene with much wonder.

"Good morning, Mother…" he faltered as he walked over to the bed. And there he clearly saw the babe that his mother cradled, hiccuping in its sleep. His eyes widened as he sat beside his mother, opposite to his stepfather, and gazed with amazement at the tiny thing that had sprung to life- his first and only blood sister.

"This is your sister, my slender fox," Ellasil weakly breathed, passing the bundle into Ninrusco's arms when Eärnur let go of her hand. "She is Fëaruin, the Spirit of the Red Flame in the tongue of the Elves, for seemingly she has inherited the bright red of our hair and a little brown of your Father's. May the Valar bless her with a heart that _is_ born of fire, though let flames never in turn consume her."

"Fëaruin the daughter of the Crown Prince Eärnur is born!" exclaimed a servant at the door. He was immediately commanded to silence, but not soon enough; for the babe whimpered to tears, hiccuping again and again. The servant shyly smiled in embarrassment, and all around him more smiles arose, for they understood his excitement, and together the family, the friends and the abode of Eärnur and Ellasil shared their joy that was born, literally in fact, of such a little bundle.

*****

Ten years swiftly passed, and the red flame of Fëaruin's heart was not only growing but also growing evident. Of course as the daughter of the Dúnedain she was mortal, and will never be as beautiful as the Elves, nor was she even _close_ to be the most beautiful of the Dúnedain in Middle-Earth. However, she was well-known for her brown-red hair, which shone ruby red in the light of the sun; and from that auburn-red mane she looked beautiful enough in a way different to Elves, with their golden and brown heads, and yet slightly Elf-like in facial expression of grandness and pride.

She began to train hard in weaponry with her brother at such a young age, developing that stone hardness in her heart enveloped by flame, with which her mother blessed her with at birth. Even so, her soul loved every living person and every thing on that Earth, which was long ago named Arda; and in turn she was exceedingly loved by the swaying trees, and by everything else in nature she was merely humbly respected.

Even though she had a heart that was so fiery that even at a young age of ten some even feared to look upon the child and her brown-red mane, she befriended everyone she could find, a gift of love and care that was given to her at birth in the place of extraordinary, Elf-Queenlike beauty. For she loved the simplicities and complexities of everything, especially nature and people, and was easy to forgive their mistakes despite her stone-hearted stubborn nature. By this she was like a precious ruby to her father Eärnur's father, Eärnil, who was at this time King of Gondor.

At this young age of ten, whilst her somewhat musical mother was teaching her to play the fiddle, Ninrusco began to train her for the first time ever in her childhood in fighting arts and weaponry. Or more precisely, to teach the little nuisance of a sister the difference between a bow and an arrow. Even using tiny blunt daggers or arrows and spears with rounded tips, holding such a thing in her hands for the first time in her lifetime, excited her.

This was the greatest flaw of Fëaruin that ever she possessed.

The fact that she had learnt skills as easy as trying to strike a flower off its stalk with a blunt dagger made the flaw even more dangerous. For the fiery heart she was blessed with at birth had kindly permitted her to forgive people easily and love everyone and everything, at the cost that she was also to love war. And warfare she truly did love, even ones as simple as arguing with her brother over a piece of a pie at the supper table, and seeing damage caused by a weapon that had come from her hand easily made her heart stir with excitement and lust for more. 

This flaw, unknown to the other side of her that held her innocence due to her love for all, was to cause much suffering greater than the dark shadows she would unwillingly be bound to.

Loyal to the fire within her she was sometimes clad with a maroon cloak, that almost mirrored the shade of her dark mahogany-red hair, although the color was slightly different. Also, determined by the unlikely claim in her youth to surpass all males in the arts of fighting, especially her father, she often wore leggings as they did (which did not go without many blatant stares). She did so especially when she trained with Ninrusco, reverting only to gowns at other times- that is, when she did not have a sword in her belt, a dagger in her hand, nor a bow across her back.

"_OUCH!!_" Ninrusco wailed, a cry that echoed through the grassy clearing in which he trained Fëaruin, as she slammed the dagger out of his hand. Of course, as a highly experienced warrior he had been very gentle with her, trying to help her gain confidence- although the confidence had indeed come very quickly, and irritated him.

"Beat you again!" Fëaruin giggled, taking her brother's hand sympathetically and holding it tight to help ease what little pain was present. "What was that, my dear brother, ten out of ten by now?"

"I… I was merely letting you win," Ninrusco jested, wriggling his hand stubbornly away from who he knew would eventually grow up to be a loyal student to him. Fëaruin smirked, letting his hand go.

"Aye, aye. Of _course_ you were," she stated sarcastically, bursting into peals of laughter when Ninrusco raised an eyebrow at her. It was that day that her brother nicknamed her Urulókë, fire-dragon in the tongue of the Elves, because of her stone-hard stubborn and fiery nature; a byname with which she was called by the Elves who have heard of her as the daughter of Eärnur and the Elves she were to meet in the future, and some Elves who will hear the tidings of the tragedies surrounding her that have not yet come to pass.

And so began the tragic adventure that surrounded the Fire-Dragon, and Spirit of the Red Flame- the rise and fall of Fëaruin Urulókë of Gondor.

To be continued…


	3. A New Friend

Author's Note:

This is the really mysterious and suspenseful chapter! This is the part where heaps of dark and strange things occur, especially at the end (don't even think about scrolling down and spoiling the suspense!) but you will most likely be VERY surprised at how all the scattered bits and pieces of this story fits together at the end! Also, the strange occurrences in this chapter involve a certain character that may be familiar to you! *cackles wickedly*

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 2: A New Friend

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We train tomorrow at the same time," Ninrusco smugly smiled, "…Urulókë."

"Shush, obnoxious one," Fëaruin waved as her brother left the clearing which was only _part_ of the vast gardens of their abode, watching as he barely waved, only raising a hand.

After she was sure he had gone she cheered and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, heading towards no particular place. For she loved the beauty of nature, and appreciated it like her mother always had. She loved running beneath the sunlit sky, which made her mahogany-red hair shine ruby in the light, and breathe the air of Middle-Earth that blew above the trees, an invisible gift from Manwë. Particularly today she wanted to see the beautiful white weed that some servants had spotted blooming somewhere in that grassy clearing of Minas Tirith.

But as Fëaruin ran on, she seemed to see a dark shape hidden behind the trees that bordered the clearing. She turned her head towards it and for a short moment stared, wondering what it could be. Full of fear she became as she abruptly stopped and told herself to approach it, being aware of the many dangers Eärnur warned her about, though something told her she _had_ to go see what it was. Horror filled her eyes as she realized it was a tiny child, no older than Fëaruin herself- and she was ten years old. She lay on her side, the child, and blood stained her raiment and her arms. The sleeves of her gown were completely torn to shreds.

Fëaruin knelt by the child who she could see was still breathing, which relieved her. Gently touching the sticky blood on the child's arms made the little one stir, and Fëaruin jumped back, frightened and alarmed.

"Who are you?" Fëaruin demanded, as the girl barely stifled the agonizing moan that escaped her clenched teeth.

The child began to rise, although as an instant reaction Fëaruin knelt again beside her, laying her back down onto the bloodstained grass.

"I… I don't remember," the girl whispered weakly, and suddenly passed out again.

*****

Eärnur, Ellasil, Ninrusco and Fëaruin curiously towered over the bed where the little girl lay. She was beautiful indeed to behold- she had brown hair that was straight, which was _very_ unusual for her kind, and her skin was creamy and fair. Her bloodstained gown had been changed, and her wounds had been treated by the Healers of Minas Tirith, leaving her very exhausted and now fast asleep in a guest bedchamber.

"I cannot say it is so, but this is most likely the work of the Witch-King," Eärnur sighed, straightening his back. "I do not believe he will give in until he is fully destroyed instead of merely defeated in duel. Although this does not explain the claw marks on her arm."

"Claw marks? That is indeed strange. What creature would have slashed at her arms like this? I do not believe it is an Orc," Ninrusco added.

"For a Hobbit, her straight hair is most unusual. A descendant also of Man or Elf, maybe?" Ellasil sat on the bed, brushing the girl's hair out of her face gently, and clearly in a motherly fashion. Fëaruin tilted her head, not fully understanding what her mother just said.

"What _is_ a Hobbit?" she asked innocently.

But everyone ignored the question as the child let out a moan, a moan so painful and born of excessive anguish that it shattered the hearts of the four that watched there by her bed. The child's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes like glistening twilight, and alarm filled them as she beheld the four that eyed her intently. She had no idea what had brought her here, where she was being examined by people she did not know at all, and wept fearfully.

"Ssh…" Ellasil soothed, brushing her flushed cheeks. "We will not hurt you. Tell us, who are you, child? And what happened?"

The child's cries died down a little, and she felt herself relax under the soothing voice, pausing before she answered. "I do not remember, Lady," she replied weakly, secretly admiring the sight of Ellasil's beautiful red hair. "All I know is that this hurts…"

"Oh, can we keep her, Mother?" Fëaruin pleaded, awestruck by the child's deep, beautiful eyes. "She remembers nothing and she has no one to take care of her. It will be better than to hand her to someone we do not know, especially since not many can be trusted with the Witch-King about. I can keep her company, and be her friend, and take care of her."

"Yes, that is a good idea," Eärnur placed a hand on the child's brow. "Go back to sleep, dear child. You're in good hands."

"What will you name her, Father?" Ninrusco questioned.

Eärnur smiled. "We shall call her Menellómë, for her eyes are deep like the dusk of the Heavens," he stated. "Elbereth must have truly gifted her with eyes like the home in which her stars lay. But that we will only call her until she regains knowledge of her real name… and let us hope that soon she _does_ remember her past."

*****

When Menellómë awoke again, she felt herself regaining her strength slowly, for the many hours of sleep had indeed helped. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes and her dark head, touching the wrapped wound on her arm. As she sat up she saw instantly beside her Fëaruin slept in a chair nigh the pillows, her brown-red hair laid on the edge of Menellómë's bed.

Fëaruin felt someone watching her in her sleep and stirred, yawning subtly before opening her eyes. She lifted her head from the Hobbit-child's bed and, seeing that she was awake, smiled a sleepy smile.

"Hello," Fëaruin mumbled, trying to stifle another yawn.

"Hello," Menellómë replied, returning a weak smile.

"Are you alright?" Fëaruin asked, genuinely worried about the child who nodded quickly, making strands of her hair fall over her eyes.

"I would not be, had you not saved me."

"Of course I could not leave you there, Menellómë," Fëaruin said humbly, innocently taking the girl's hand. "You were near dead, and the safest thing to do was take you home with me."

"This is your home? And who are you? For I forgot to ask," Menellómë gushed at the size and beauty of the place, when she realized what Fëaruin was calling her. "Menellómë? Is that my name?"

"Nay, I think not," Fëaruin licked her lips naïvely, "but no one knows your name, not even you, so my father named you Dusk of the Heavens in the tongue of the Elves, because of your sparkling eyes. I am Fëaruin, daughter of Eärnur and Ellasil of the Dúnedain. My grandfather Eärnil is King here in Gondor, and my father is heir."

"I am very pleased," Menellómë smiled, "to meet you, Fëaruin, and that I can rest for a while in the safety of your home. Friends?"

Fëaruin looked deep into the twilight eyes of the Hobbit child, who smirked back with growing strength becoming evident. At that Fëaruin lifted herself up from the chair, and shook the hand in hers.

"Friends."

*****

__

=DREAM/FLASHBACK=

A lone Elf ran through many trees, a bow clenched so tightly in his hand that splinters were beginning to cut through the delicate skin. However, he paid it no heed, for he was growing very desperate. Two hours had passed since he secretly came to his lover's bedchamber to seduce her- and instead of finding her, he had found a werewolf in the room instead. The room was in a complete mess; sheets and books were strewn all over the floor, and his lover was nowhere to be found.

Fighting back tears of anguish he chased after the beast in the usually harmonious woods of the Elven Kingdom of Lothlórien, crying his lover's name in the quiet of the night. _Finlos… Finlos…_ echoed the name of the snow-haired maiden who had won the Elf's heart, and birds and beasts of the night cowered back into the darkness as they heard the cries, and pitying the melody of grief that was threaded within them.

When he saw the fleeing beast before him leap out onto the direct dirt path, he strung an arrow instantly, quickening his step. When the arrow was released a much more painful cry rang through the trees, as it embedded itself in the wolf's back. With another wail, the werewolf fell before the Elf's eyes, suddenly metamorphosing into its original form. Horror overcame him as he saw the werewolf change back into a maiden whose body glistened silver in the light of the full moon, and the Elf dropped his bow, running to her.

"Finlos!" he cried, kneeling and cradling his limp lover in his arms, not caring about the blood that surged over them both. The poor Elf wept miserably as he kissed the bloodstained lips, holding her head to his chest. Images in remembrance of the times they'd spent together and the love they'd shared passed before his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a fierce sob, cursing himself over and over again. "O Elbereth, what have I done?!"

"I… I love you," Finlos uttered. "I'm sorry, Legolas…" and thus she died.

To be continued…


	4. Surprise Plan

Author's Note:

Avardelothien, if you are reading this note right now, please read this story until the last chapter that I post up. You do want to see you and sweet little Dee make a… pair, don't you?! *smirks*

Thanks Morauko and dbzchiksrule (Finlos) for all the reviews!

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 3: Surprise Plan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas shed tears all night, his cries echoing throughout Lothlórien, and all that heard it mourned for him. Though unknown to him, a fair distance away in the cold lands of Mordor rang a cry born of more pain than his cries, echoing from a secret overshadowed darkness. A mortal lady cried out in pain beneath the hands of the wraiths cloaked in black, and she whimpered in fear, feeling the torture settled upon her take its toll.

"Please," she sobbed, as the wraiths prepared to smite her again. "Have mercy…"

"Umrien," the cloaked wraiths hissed as they struck her, and the cries abruptly ceased. "Umrien en lye… Morauko…"

*****

__

=FIVE YEARS LATER=

In the year that Fëaruin turned fifteen, five years after the tragedy of Finlos and Legolas and the mysterious cries of the maiden that rang from Mordor, King Thranduil of the Elven Kingdom of Mirkwood walked in the gardens of his land, taking in the greatness of the forests. He replayed in his mind over and over again how he would break the special news to his daughter Avardelothien Fëanna, younger sister of Legolas. He was most of all afraid of what her reaction would be- maybe sorrow, maybe anger… but least likely- although possible- joy.

When Thranduil decided he was ready, he summoned Avardelothien, asking a servant to fetch her. It was when she arrived before him that he realized how lucky he was to have such a beautiful daughter. Golden-brown was her hair, hanging to her waist, and light blue were her eyes, with a face that was flawless and had no trace of a blemish. Still in her youth was she, more specifically the age of seventeen hundred and eighty- which is still young for an Elf, the Human equivalent for the early twenties- but in her face she appeared wise, her eyes unwavering, and appeared well past her actual age in terms of wisdom.

"You summoned me, Father?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Fëanna," Thranduil paced nervously, clearing his throat. "Listen to me very carefully, Avardelothien. I have something important to tell you."

"What is it… Father?" Avardelothien asked, worry draining through her veins now. She rarely saw her father act so solemn, and she realized that whatever it was that was plaguing his mind had to be what made him so unusually doubtful.

"Avardelothien, I have received tidings from Gondor, which is under the rule of King Eärnil," Thranduil began. "Eärnil's son, the Crown Prince Eärnur has a daughter by blood who I'm sure you've heard of, Fëaruin Urulókë the Fire-Dragon of Gondor, and a stepson, Ninrusco, who is not of his blood."

"Meaning…"

"…Meaning that if Eärnil were to pass away, Eärnur would be King, his daughter would be heir, and his stepson merely a Prince."

"Go on…" Avardelothien drawled, not understanding why her father had summoned her here to tell her something she did not need to know by life and death.

Thranduil hesitantly continued. "You know how that is similar, only slightly different, in our situation? Fëaruin will be heir, and Ninrusco will be merely a prince. Legolas here is heir, and you will be merely a princess."

"What are you saying?" Avardelothien demanded.

"I… I have arranged with Gondor for you to… marry… Ninrusco."

"You WHAT?!" Avardelothien yelled, and suddenly fell to the ground.

*****

"You WHAT?!" Ninrusco yelled, and suddenly fell to the ground. Fëaruin and Menellómë laughed, and each held out a hand, helping him up.

"Forgive me, Ninrusco…" Eärnur cringed, expecting that reaction. "King Thranduil and I have actually planned this for several years now. It is that when my father passes away that both of you will _not_ be heir to the throne, and also we believe that this will tighten the friendship between Mirkwood and Gondor. Crown Prince Legolas of Mirkwood may be well known… but his sister Avardelothien is known to only few, as for some time Thranduil had hidden her beauty in reserve for only you."

"How could you do this to me, Father?" Ninrusco cried, genuinely dismayed. "I cannot believe you also agree to this, Mother! You cannot be more cruel if you threw me into a pit of spikes than if you arrange a marriage for me. I desire to marry solely for love, and if I die without ever falling in love, then may I die unmarried!"

"Do not say such a thing!" Ellasil scolded. "You do not even know the Princess Avardelothien, Ninrusco. We did not set a date, and so we did not say that you must be married before you make friends with her. Never curse yourself in such a way, for the curse will follow you to the hour of your death!"

"So what if it does? I care not," Ninrusco retorted furiously. "What if I do not like her? What then? I will grow to loathe her, and I will grow to loathe you for forcing me into such a position and believe me, I know neither one of us desires that."

Ellasil flinched at such bold words, and sighed. "Do this for the future of our lands, my slender fox, and for your father. You would do so, I know this, if you genuinely loved him… for this is what he desires. Please, my son? We ask nothing more right now than for you to make good friends with Avardelothien first, and if it does not work out, we promise to see what we can do."

Ninrusco sighed in defeat, for he genuinely loved his stepfather, and did not want to upset him simply by denying a request. "…Very well, Mother."

"Very good," Eärnur smiled, pleased. "Menellómë will accompany you to Mirkwood, for Avardelothien has requested Fëaruin's company in the hope of making friends."

"Me?" Fëaruin beamed at the words. "An Elven Princess has requested MY company in the hope of making friends? Have I strayed into a dream?"

"Urulókë will accompany me?" Ninrusco groaned in despair. Seeing the smirk on Fëaruin's face, he smiled. "She will only be to me a pest and attempt to be a match-maker! Why is Menellómë coming also?"

Five years had swiftly passed since Menellómë first came into the lives of the family of Fëaruin, and few aspects of her had changed. Ninrusco and Menellómë both grew taller, although Menellómë grew curiously taller than an average Hobbit, and the shape of their faces more mature and attractive. Menellómë was approximately fifteen like Fëaruin, none could be sure, which was still a child for a Hobbit. But she was very beautiful and, unlike other Hobbits, she had grown her unusually straight hair and kept it in a bun on the back, a velvet sash always tied around it. Ninrusco, as a Mortal, was doomed with facial hair- which he desperately attempted to knife off every morning. His wavy red hair, hanging below his shoulders, never changed.

Fëaruin, from her youth, changed very little also. Her brown-red hair still remained, in fact grown longer to the breast like her mother, and it still shone like fire in the sun. She had grown much taller and sometimes still wore a black or maroon cloak and hood, and she had trained very hard in fighting arts beneath the supervision of her brother, which made her skills only a little behind his, which she was subtly proud of. Her fiery heart and love of war still remained, as did the unusual conjunction that she also had a gentle side, a weakness and love of people and nature. And it was this love that caused her to bite her lip as Ninrusco irritably called her a pest.

"To keep Fëaruin on the journey, of course," Ellasil grinned naughtily. "I know very well that you would just die if Urulókë only had you to talk to."

Fëaruin and Menellómë burst into peals of laughter, which made Ninrusco glare at them and storm away with a twitching eye. As they went to bed that night all three had only one thing on their minds before they fell asleep; meeting the Elven Princess Avardelothien, and making friends with she, the Flower of the Heavens.

To be continued…


	5. Away To Mirkwood!

Author's Note:

Come now, people! I may be an inexperienced LotR author but that doesn't mean you can't have an eyeful of my story. Don't go away just yet, stop and have a read. Aren't you the slightest bit interested in the story of me destroying half of Middle-Earth and killing all you insignificant Men?!?!?!

…Just kidding. Read already!!

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 4: Away to Mirkwood!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good luck, my son," Ellasil squeezed Ninrusco's shoulder, before embracing him. "You have my blessing. For I know well your desire of freedom of choice, and I can only hope each day that the meeting with Avardelothien goes well."

Ninrusco smiled at his mother, who moved next in line and crouched down to suit her Hobbit height. "Menellómë, Dusk of the Heavens. Five years have you brought joy to our family, although sadly at the cost of losing your memory. Let me say that we may never see each other again, and yet we may, if ever you choose to return. But if you do not, let me say how much your presence has been welcomed here, and hope that Eärnur and I have been to you the father and mother you do not remember."

Menellómë wept, and embraced Ellasil, who truly _had_ been a mother to her. "I desire to express my love for Gondor, and for you Ellasil and Eärnur, my mother and father. I hope that I do not fall so deeply in love with Mirkwood that I desire not to return."

"Me, neither," Ninrusco uttered sorrowfully, turning away from the gazes of his mother and stepfather. "For I will always love you even if I decide not to return home, although I wish it not so at all."

"Do not say such a thing," Eärnur smiled, his eyes shining with love. "You truly need to develop faith, my son. For happily married or piteously lonesome, you may return, Ninrusco. And Menellómë, you may too… we do not know what will come to pass, although if things turn to the more grievous wing, let us spend the time we have left with wisdom."

Eärnur and Ellasil came at last to their blood daughter, who in her excitement also held a shred of sadness. A gush of love came over them both as they perceived how hard she was trying to hide her tears. But even past her elegantly embroidered, crushed velvet top garment they saw her masculine leggings, partially covered by her cloak, and laughed- they knew for sure that she was going to be just fine. Of course, the bow and quiver on her back emphasized this clearly, along with the sword in its scabbard at her side, and the fiddle she strapped to the back of Ninrusco's horse.

"What is so funny?" Fëaruin demanded, covering her leggings more as she swished her maroon cloak across her front.

"Nothing," Ellasil's laughter merely faded into a smile, as she embraced her blood daughter. "Now, Fëaruin, I say what I say to Ninrusco and Menellómë. We…"

"Silence, Mother," Fëaruin tenderly held a finger to her lips. "For my heart was blessed with flame at my birth and that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I have faith, and I am sure that the greatness of Mirkwood will not tame the fiery heart enough to prevent me from returning at least once. If I forget to tell you I love you and I pass away without returning, let my soul weep forevermore that I failed to return alive, rather than because I forgot to embrace you."

Ellasil smiled a smile that made her cheeks blush a bright pink, squeezing her daughter who was still in her arms and saying 'I love you' to each, before stepping aside to let Eärnur do the same.

And with that they left, not turning back, except for Fëaruin who had to consistently pass glares at her parents whose chortles regarding her leggings were still audible. Leaving Minas Tirith with a large crowd of servants, friends and citizens behind them they went with only one horse, Ninrusco's stallion, that carried all their supplies, and walked down the road alone. It was Fëaruin's stone-hard nature that insisted that none of her father's men accompany them, for great faith did she have in her skilled brother whilst she herself was anxious to test the skills he'd taught her for five years. Sadly unknown to them, the fears of Ellasil were partly true, though there was no way of knowing the fates of the future bound to their fears- that for Menellómë and Ninrusco, it was verily the second last time they will ever see Ellasil and Eärnur whilst they were alive.

None would ever consider it possible, nor morally proper to leave behind a mother and father who was too busy governing the lands and could not visit, for another place that may feel like home, but will never _be_ home. For though they may miss the home in which they were born, it comes from a whole new place in which they live. Forever shall sadness envelop those who settle in a new land, but never to the place of their birth and once again see those that knew them on that first day in the true place called home.

*****

After walking many hours, they chose to camp, having walked a fair amount of leagues north. The Hobbit and two Dúnedain set the fire and feasted on bread and fruit, sitting on flattened stumps and against tree trunks, in full view of Ninrusco's hardworking- and now quietly grazing- weary stallion. Afterwards Fëaruin's music was the only sound besides the crackling fire that was audible, as the pleasant voice of her fiddle rang through the night sky.

"I wonder what she's like…" Fëaruin muttered, breaking the melody as she lowered the instrument. Menellómë reacted first, being snapped out of a daydream.

"Eh…?"

"Avardelothien," Fëaruin replied. "The Exalted Flower, the Flower of the Heavens."

"An Elven Princess…" Ninrusco whispered, his gaze still. "I wonder if I'll ever get to like her. Maybe she's a better warrior than I. What if her skills surpass mine? I know not how to live with such shame if so. Oh Eru, what shall I be if her horse is swifter, her blades sharper, her arrows fly faster should her bow sing sweeter…"

"I thought you did not even consider marrying her," Menellómë teased. "Why would you be so unsure how to 'live with the shame' if this is true?"

"Mirkwood is a beautiful place," Ninrusco mused. "Whether or not I will learn to respect Avardelothien, most likely I will learn to love her land, if all the rumors are true. If I decide to stay rather than return home to Mother and Father…"

"Be happy, dear brother," Fëaruin smirked, resting the fiddle down on the grass beside her. "You have been honored to be matched up with such a noble Lady. Altogether, I still do not believe she, an Elven Princess of Mirkwood, has asked my company…"

"Oh no," Ninrusco groaned. "Here she goes again."

"Find you something wrong with that?" Fëaruin sneered.

Ninrusco smirked. "Yes. I find it really lame."

"Let us NOT fight over such insignificant matters, shall we?" Menellómë sighed, holding out both hands in a commanding 'stop' gesture. Fëaruin and Ninrusco glanced at each other, grinned, and dove to either side of Menellómë, using her raised arms as an advantage to tickle her sides.

The journey continued long and hard every single day, walking and hauling, limping and falling, sleep the last resort to ending each day. It was on the beginning of the eleventh week of the journey when their hearts and bodies were weary that they arrived at last in Rhovanion, and entered the borders of the vast forestry of Mirkwood.

*****

Five years had passed since a mysterious Lady, unknown yet of her state, name and origin, was brought to Mordor and tortured beneath the cruel hands of the Ringwraiths. It was her painful screams and grievous cries that made Legolas' sobs sound alike silence when he had killed a werewolf that turned out to be his lover.

Yet risen now in shadow and malice was she, in turn rising higher than the Nazgûl themselves as their ruler. Morauko Umrien they named her, Dark Demon and Evil Queen, and she was terrible as the angry sea and yet beautiful, although coldly like the snow. In black like they was the Nazgûl Queen cloaked, and she was quick to anger, terrible in her wrath. Five years on, in this present day, she unmercifully sat on her throne in Minas Morgul, her voice a hissing whisper among the dead.

"Too long has it been," she spoke, her voice full of wrath. "For years have we been feared by forces of light, and even forces of darkness cower pitifully into the shadows at our presence. But I think it is time that we take another into our rule, for my heart is beginning to desire a second to my throne. I desire one who will be my second in command to me in ordering the wretched forces that we possess and yet will bow down before me loyal and faithful, like Sauron once had Morgoth. Whose heart would be so earnest, so passionately loving and sweet, that corrupting it into the most cruel and malicious in all Middle-Earth would be born the most indefinable satisfaction for me?"

The other Ringwraiths in the power of her rule began to stir as she ceased her words, standing low beneath her high-lifted throne.

"We know not," one hissed, its voice hardly audible. "But we shall find your second in command to you, when we find the one that shall suit. She shall be converted into the most vengeful of hearts. She will rule us as you do, and serve you as we do, and we shall choose one whose heart already excites in uproar and is a suitor to blood on her dagger. She will be a Princess to us all… and she shall be yours."

To be continued…


	6. Secret Past

Author's Note:

I know exactly what will get all you girls stirring; it's Legolas, isn't it? Our favorite *coughcough*anddownrightprissy*choke* Mirkwood Elf in the fellowship *splutter*whohappenstobetheonlyElfinthefellowship*cough*

WHAT?! I didn't say anything! Don't glare at me like that! :(

Well, be pleased. The *choke*effeminate*wheeze* Elf is in this chapter in detail… along with a secret revealed… intrigued? Read on.

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 5: Secret Past

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After introducing themselves to the border guards of Mirkwood, Ninrusco, Menellómë and Fëaruin sleepily entered Northern Mirkwood into one of the gardens of King Thranduil, who was expecting them. He welcomed them heartily and gave time for each to bathe and cleanse themselves, before summoning them at the same place within his presence once more.

"Hmm…" Thranduil raised an eyebrow, looking around. "Seemingly Avardelothien is taking longer than I expected."

"What… what is she doing?" Ninrusco stammered, nervous. Thranduil raised his head at the young one, bearing an intrigued smile.

"I know not…" he replied. "Worry not, my young Dúnadan. I understand fully how anxious you are, but while you and Avardelothien are under my watch I can separate you before each your eyes are gouged out by the other. Now, for some things that my daughter has requested I pass on to you in her absence. Menellómë, Avardelothien tells me to make you feel welcome, as very seldom do Hobbits come to my Elven land."

Menellómë bowed, wordless. Thranduil smiled at the little one, before his eyes moved to the next in line beside.

"Avardelothien tells me to welcome you also, of course, even though I have done so already, blood daughter of Crown Prince Eärnur. Avardelothien asked me to inform you that she is keen on meeting you, for you will be the first of the Edain with whom she desires friendship."

Fëaruin bowed before the King. "It is an honor, King of Mirkwood."

"Ninrusco," Thranduil smiled, "I would like to beg pardon for my daughter's disrespectful nature, but she has not left me a message for you."

"Believe me, I understand," Ninrusco drawled, looking miserable.

"In the meantime, slender fox, I would like you to meet my son," Thranduil turned, and called the name of _Legolas_. Silence dominated for a few minutes until an Elf arrived, obviously quite young, into the scene. Golden was his hair and in brown and green was he clad, with a bow on his back and boots upon his feet. To the company from Gondor the handsome obvious Prince looked sad however, and his eyes were miserable, as he obeyed his father and came forth.

"Meet the company from Gondor, Legolas," Thranduil stated. "These are the blood, foster and step children of Eärnur. Of course you have heard of Fëanna's arrangements to wed Ninrusco?"

"Ah, of course Father," he smiled, the sadness still however present. "I welcome you, slender fox. Of course it is not often that we have Dúnedain in our land unless they have come to discuss important issues or trade, and so I wish you shall love the beauty of my home. I also hope that Avardelothien Fëanna my sister will learn to respect you, for her reaction to this betrothal I do know had not been at its best."

"Neither had mine," Ninrusco laughed, and shook Legolas' hand.

"And Fëaruin, Spirit of the Red Flame and Fire-Dragon of Gondor," he moved on solemnly, even though he had nothing to say to Fëaruin. "I welcome you and hope that you will be good friends with my sister, as she desires…"

He bent down automatically to kiss Fëaruin's hand, as any Prince should to a Lady, but she did not perceive the gesture immediately and instead shook Legolas' hand like any other male would. The Elf immediately stopped in puzzlement, and in the end shook her hand as well, intrigued as he noticed the leggings she masculinely wore. Thranduil, who understood what was happening, struggled to stifle his uncivil laughter.

"And Menellómë, foster daughter of Eärnur," he continued, kneeling to the Hobbit, "It is a pleasure to have you, and I hope you will enjoy your stay here. Seldom has a Hobbit entered our lands for any purpose… let alone a Hobbit of such extraordinary beauty."

Menellómë giggled as the comely Elf kissed her hand, and swooned when he winked and blew her a kiss upon leaving. It was at this that his smile disappeared and the sorrow overcame his eyes again. Worrying but unable to do anything about it, the company of three (and a horse) from Gondor were told to rest awhile, before the Princess of Mirkwood was ready.

*****

Legolas ran away from the scene and wept, hiding behind a tree. He rested his back against it and tried to wipe the tears away before anyone else could see what was happening. He looked back at Menellómë, and seeing such a radiant smile and beautiful eyes he felt tears pricking at his eyes again. I should never have told you to flee! he thought. Ai, Alatamoth… my Radiant Dusk. If only you could remember…

__

=FLASHBACK=

"Alatamoth!" Legolas yelled as the werewolf dragged the child by her sleeve, its teeth sunk deep into the gown. The child was sobbing and calling after Legolas, blood tricking down her arms and soaking her raiment from where the beast had swiped at her with its claws. The Elf's heart throbbed with pain at the sight of the frightened child, torn between choked tears and screams, and looked around him in fruitless hope.

"Finlos!" Legolas called his lover's name in grief. "Finlos, where are you?! Alatamoth has been taken!"

Ai, Elbereth, Legolas almost hit himself at the realization. What if the wolf had taken his lover as well… two hours had passed since he secretly came to his lover's bedchamber, and instead of finding her, he had found a werewolf instead… and a fearful Hobbit-child screaming in the corner. He shook his head at the bitter memory, and suppressed the urge to scream himself, overcome by anger and distress.

"Curse you!" Legolas cried to the wolf he now could not see now as it had leapt into the bushes. The Elf continued to run nonetheless, calling, "You have taken my wife. You will not take my daughter as well!"

Suddenly, the werewolf leapt onto the path, which made Legolas hasten. He strung an arrow whilst the beast was in clear sight and released it, which made a cry ring through the trees with a heart-shattering pain as the arrow embedded itself in the wolf's back. It released the child, who desperately rose and automatically immobilized the wound with her sleeve, running to Legolas.

"Daddy!" she sobbed, the blood running down her arms and staining her gown. However, Legolas stepped back and pointed into the darkness of the woods beyond Lothlórien, refusing the child's need for comfort.

"Run, Alatamoth!" he cried as the unconscious wolf began to stir. The child nodded and, calling for and mounting her mother's horse Mornië Maránwë she rode for many days, weary with grief, having to camp and ride again, finally collapsing in a garden she did not recognize as a grassy clearing of Minas Tirith. As she ran long and hard she wept bitterly, for through the many days she had heard the choked scream and fierce sob of her father's voice, wailing her mother's name.

__

=END FLASHBACK=

Legolas was not only grieved at his lover's death, but also he never saw Alatamoth, whose name meant radiant dusk, ever again. Or so he thought, until news of Eärnur's foster daughter- an exceedingly beautiful, approximately ten-year-old Hobbit child who was found near dead by Urulókë of Gondor and willingly adopted- came to Mirkwood. What shocked him the most was that the news traveled so far because of a rare beauty this child possessed- with unusually straight brown hair for a Hobbit, and eyes that were deep and sparkling as the stars of dusk, so gleaming that she was named Menellómë by the family of Eärnur. Legolas' heart had leapt straight into his throat, for this description matched Alatamoth perfectly.

Although it seemed impossible for anyone to keep such a secret that only little ever found out in the end, none save for Finlos and Legolas had known about Alatamoth, presently not even Thranduil and Avardelothien. Legolas had enticed and seduced Finlos when they were both very young, and had made her stay in her chamber during her pregnancy; it was for fear that none would accept that a very young Elf was fathering a child whose also very young mother was half Hobbit. Although Finlos' parents had done so.

Finlos' mother was an Elf, and her father a Hobbit. Only this explained Menellómë's unlikeness to either of the either of the races; for though she inherited the smooth, sleek and straight Elven hair, its brown shade had been inherited from Finlos' Hobbit father. And like her mother she was unusually short for an Elf and tall for a Hobbit, though no one knew now save for Legolas, since he had killed Finlos- the only other who had known- in her werewolf form. But though even though he knew now that Alatamoth was alive, he was determined to keep their past a secret, to let it die with him should he one day sail West… although many knew now the other secret that his lover was truly a werewolf.

Pity her grief had made her lose her memory, he thought. But in some ways it was an advantage, as he thought of the consequences should the news of Menellómë's heritage march blatantly into Mirkwood, claiming Legolas to be her father. But Elbereth, he prayed in relief. I'm glad she's safe…

__

=FLASHBACK=

Legolas hid high in a tree branch as he saw three figures below him being questioned by the border guards of Mirkwood, trying to remain as silent as possible. His curiosity overcame him and he peered down with interest, though slightly doubtful of these strangers as well, hoping at the same time that he would not fall off the tree.

"State your names, strangers," An Elven Guard said suspiciously, clasping a spear threateningly tight in his left hand. The two Dúnedain and Hobbit flinched at that, making Ninrusco's stallion neigh as the young one pulled on its reins anxiously.

"I am Ninrusco, slender fox," he stated, feigning neutrality. "This is Menellómë, and Fëaruin Urulókë the Fire-Dragon of Gondor. We are the foster, blood and step children of the Crown Prince Eärnur."

The Elven Guard spoke amongst the other guards in their own tongue, whilst Legolas above secretly took a closer look at the visitors. Ninrusco was obviously the one holding the stallion's reins, the only male Edain from the company, the one to marry Avardelothien. Legolas' eyes ran across to a mahogany-red head, and he instantly recognized the hair as Urulókë's, after hearing many tidings of the flame-hearted daughter of the Crown Prince of Gondor and her flaring mane.

When his eyes came to the third visitor, he nearly fell out of the tree. It was Alatamoth his daughter, he was sure, for aside from her taller height this supposed Menellómë looked exactly the same as Alatamoth did five years before.

"So it is true," he whispered to himself in the shadows of the leaves. "Alatamoth is alive and well, and has returned home as the famed Menellómë foster daughter of Eärnur, whose news of beauty came this far…"

"King Thranduil _has_ been expecting you," the Elven Guard's voice came from below, as he turned and led the three visitors into Mirkwood's realm. But right where he was Legolas stayed, silent tears pricking his eyes, seated on the branch for an entire hour. It was when he heard his father's call that he braced himself, left the tree and readied to meet the guests, one of which was his own daughter. How sick Legolas felt that Thranduil had been speaking to a Hobbit he did not even know was his own granddaughter…

__

=END FLASHBACK=

"Legolas? Are you well?" a soothing voice interrupted, which made the Elf whirl around as a shocked and startled reaction.

"O, Fëanna," he sighed upon seeing his sister Avardelothien. "Yes, I am fine. The guests have arrived. They _were_ waiting for you, but now they are resting."

"Thank you, Brother," she smiled, clapping his shoulder. "I will go see to them now."

To be continued…

Author's Note:

Aw, don't flame me! The idea that Legolas married a half-Hobbit was not mine. Send all flames to my friend Finlos, ff.net pen name dbzchiksrule, and complain to her why she gets to marry *your* Elf. (Sorry Finlos! I still love you very much!)

Interested in all our tales? Read _The Secret Tale Of Finlos_ by me, and _The Bloodied Sword_ by my friend fanfiction.net pen name Morauko.

Fëaruin Urulókë


	7. Exalted Flower

Author's Note:

There is a character here, a friend of Avardelothien's, who is introduced briefly in the first little section of this chapter. He is actually quite an important character of this story, but won't appear again until Part 10, so don't erase this character from your mind. He has no involvement in my childhood, but he plays a significant part when I'm several years older, so when Part 10 comes I will put a little reminder of his appearance in this chapter.

Enjoy!

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 6: Exalted Flower

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Warrior?!" the dark-haired Elf laughed, unable to believe what he was hearing. "This… puerile lord Ninrusco is teaching a pest of a youngster to be a warrior?"

Avardelothien turned to her best friend and gave a scowl. "Don't be so cruel. I'm sure you were young when your family taught you how to defend yourself. And Fëaruin is fifteen years old, so no matter if she looks like she is ten, she is no pest."

"You haven't even met her," the male Elf grinned. "Honestly, you are too kind. Don't _you_ find it just a little ridiculous?"

"No," replied Avardelothien ignorantly. "I will make no judgement until I meet her. And you yourself have never liked it when someone judged you just because you were a messenger, yes, Anarórë?"

The color drained from Anarórë's face. "…Yes, I guess that is true."

"I will go look for her now, actually," she clapped her best friend on the shoulder. "Father says they are presently resting. Do tell me if you see them, will you?"

"Of course," he replied. And with that Avardelothien waved and walked slowly away in the opposite direction.

Anarórë had been offended a little about what Avardelothien had just told him, but he tried to ignore it, and grinned at the rumor she told him about Fëaruin's early training. Honestly, it was absurd. He didn't think the young lass even knew how to hold the hilt of a sword. And as he thought about it, he heard a rustle behind him; immediately he swung around, not knowing where it had come from.

Being a little wary, he walked a little towards that direction and spied through the hanging leaves, trying to see what the noise had been. And as he peered his eyes fell upon Fëaruin herself fast asleep, curled up on the ground, turning to her side. Hearing Avardelothien's recent preposterous hearsay in his mind, he thought that he would start laughing at the sight of the young brat. But somehow, he didn't.

Instead, he felt some faint tenderness for the child, peaceful as the night sky, smiling in her sleep. Suddenly it no longer seemed to him as though that cruel laughter had been just for such an innocent girl who appeared to hold a special love with everything around her. The tree looming above her bent down and touched her with long leaves, as if to protect her. Grass swayed against her form in the light breeze, and small flowers grew amongst them. In that moment Anarórë felt something within him, something he could not understand.

All of a sudden Anarórë saw the other two figures with her, and not wanting to be caught spying, he took one last look at the sleeping child and walked away. Something about the mahogany-haired girl had to him felt pleasant, and beautiful. He did not smile, but erased the thought from his mind, and seldom did it occur to him again until thirteen years later.

*****

Ninrusco leant against a tree as he sat, watching the two sleeping girls in front of him. Fëaruin and Menellómë looked so innocent in their sleep, he mused. Clearly they were exhausted because they had stayed up so many late nights to strive to complete the journey. And they were both just children, so of course they would be weary. But for some reason Ninrusco was restless; something out there called to him, and until he knew what it was he felt as though he would never rest. So he stood, feeling clean and fresh after bathing, and decided to walk around and gaze at Mirkwood's greatness.

All of a sudden, somebody spun from the path's corner and knocked into him, startling him to death. Ninrusco gave a cry of shock and stepped back, as the person touched his arm.

"Oh Eru, forgive me, sir," she whispered apologetically, trying to get a good look at the one she bumped into. She realized immediately that he was a stranger, and he looked back at her solemnly, awestruck by such tenderness.

Ninrusco had never seen anything like her. She was fair, extremely fair, with golden-brown hair to her waist. Her eyes glimmered a blue of the sky and her face lit up her surroundings with an inner light that she seemed to carry within her. She was radiant and beautiful to behold, and at that moment everything was forgotten as the enchantress bewitched the fox with her purity. Those lips, he thought. They looked so tempting…

Avardelothien blushed as she gazed back into the green eyes of the stranger before her. She had never seen him before, but he was rather handsome, she mused. There were hardly any in the lands with hair of such color, and she was spellbound, filled with an indefinable warmth and a love within her that she did not even realize was there.

"I should be the one to apologize," Ninrusco muttered, not even listening to his own words. His eyes passed over her Elven ear, and he was not surprised. Such beauty ever came in the blood of the Elves… even his own sister, he knew, would not be considered beautiful in comparison with a full-blown drop-dead ravishing Elf, no matter how Elf-like she seemed, which to him she didn't because of the color of her hair. At that moment it was as though a spell of acknowledged love between the different people lay over them, like the ones that were spun in myths long ago, as Ninrusco touched the hand on his arm, unconsciously bringing the Elven maiden closer.

As though of their own accord, Ninrusco drew closer and sweetly kissed the Elf, an arm around the maiden's waist and the other hand still holding hers. She smiled with understanding and returned the breathtaking kiss, reaching up her free hand to touch his face, as she brushed the sweet-smelling hair back behind his ear.

As Avardelothien slowly broke the kiss, her eyes traced her finger that still tried to pull all the hair back from the stranger's face. As she did so she instantly saw the Human ear, and shock overcame her as she realized why his chin was so rough with facial hair, he did not look like any other Elf, and most of all his hair was a bright orange-red. Then it struck her.

"Ninrusco," she breathed in disbelief, pulling away from his arms unwillingly. Ninrusco looked at the puzzled maiden and drew closer, only to find that she did not want to be any closer than the far distance at which they were now apart, as she continued to draw back.

"What is wrong, sweet Lady?" Ninrusco questioned, then suddenly realized something. "O, how did you know my name?"

*****

Fëaruin and Menellómë were awoken suddenly from their outdoor nap by two shrill voices that yelled "EWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!" – that is, as were many other Elves in Mirkwood who were trying to rest- and the shriek was, to the amusement of those who heard it, joined with many interesting sounds of coughing and spluttering.

"What- what on Middle Earth is going on?" Fëaruin yawned as Legolas walked past. The Elf again flinched at the sight of the beautiful Halfling who was stirring beside Fëaruin, and tried desperately not to make eye contact.

"I know not, but I intend to find out," he said hurriedly, still looking slightly amused at her leggings, which made her raise her eyebrow in puzzlement. He quickly departed with Fëaruin and Menellómë not far behind him, as the voices of two people became more easily understood the nearer they approached.

"YOU?!" Ninrusco spluttered, trying to spit the lingering taste of Avardelothien out of his mouth. "YOU are this Avardelothien Fëanna? Ai, ai! What in the name of Elbereth did I think I was doing?!"

"Well, noble Dúnadan, aren't you?" Avardelothien narrowed her eyes. "YOU kissed me, and now that you know my name, I guess I'm not good enough. You know, I loathe arranged marriages also, in the belief of freedom, though I enjoyed what just passed. But no, you would prefer to kiss someone you don't even know and just push them away ONCE YOU KNOW THEIR NAME!"

"What happened?" Legolas ran in, followed by Menellómë, and after that Fëaruin. As soon as the three of them saw Ninrusco and Avardelothien glaring at each other, hands on their hips, Legolas instantly understood. He groaned inwardly, placing a hand over his eyes.

"Fëanna, cease this," Legolas ordered. "Our guests are here."

"I KNOW," Avardelothien snarled, without breaking her glaring contest with Ninrusco. Fëaruin and Menellómë stared in wonder, basking in the beauty before them. This was the daughter of Thranduil, the Elven Princess of Mirkwood, and the light within her shone bright as the sun, seeming to bring a gleam wherever she walked. The thought that they were merely in her presence seemed more like a dream.

"No, Fëanna," sighed Legolas, removing the hand from his brow. "I meant the guests are _here_."

"Oh!" Avardelothien quickly realized, regaining composure quickly as she stepped away from Ninrusco. Whilst brushing the wrinkles out of her purple gown, her eyes passed over Fëaruin's brown-red hair, and she stopped. _That must be Urulókë,_ she thought. She looked not bad, even though she may never be as beautiful as Avardelothien herself, an immortal Elf. She looked slender, and well trained, with a strength that seemed to radiate from her… whoa, hold on… she's wearing leggings.

"You must be Fëaruin. Welcome, Fire-Dragon of Gondor," Avardelothien walked over and curtseyed, trying not to imagine _how_ Fëaruin would do the same. "I guess your heart is not selfish, then, by not refusing my request of friendship. Would it not be better for you if I called you by your byname Urulókë?"

"I do not mind, Lady," Fëaruin was about to curtsey, when she realized that she was not in a gown and bowed instead. "Elves who do not know me usually call me Urulókë, and Elves who do know me alternate in calling me Urulókë and Fëaruin. But everyone is free to call me what they will; both are my name, by both names am I called, and if you would like a special exception as one who knows me not I will gladly allow you to call me Fëaruin."

"What a pleasant gift," Avardelothien smiled sweetly. "I will give you a special exception too. You may call me by my first name Avardelothien, though many call me by my byname Fëanna. And you must be Menellómë. Welcome!"

"It is a pleasure to be here," Menellómë curtseyed, making Legolas stiffen again. Fëanna didn't even know she was speaking to a direct niece, he thought. If only she knew… if only I had the heart to tell them…

"Come, Fëaruin," Avardelothien grinned at last, beckoning the way to leave the clear path. "There is much that we must talk about."

"Indeed," Fëaruin smiled, and together they left the path. Legolas, Menellómë and Ninrusco watched their backs move away, and ended up walking off the path into a cluster of flat stones among the shade of the trees.

"Well, that was nice, abandoning us," Legolas mocked hurt as he sat on a flat stone. Ninrusco and Menellómë sat across from him, forming a triangle.

"I understand why," Ninrusco raised an eyebrow. "Knowing Urulókë and experiencing the wrath of your sister just then I'd say their attitudes may be about the same."

Menellómë laughed. "Aw, that's cruel. They're both nice to me."

Legolas and Ninrusco chuckled softly, before their laughter trailed away into a mere echo. Silence passed briefly, before Legolas bowed his head, a shadow forming on his face.

"Menellómë…" he said.

Menellómë smiled at the Elf, her eyes bright. "Yes, Legolas?"

"Do you… would you mind if I called you Alatamoth?" he asked as he raised his head, a dreamy hope shining in his eyes. "It means… it means Radiant Dusk, because of your stunning eyes. I knew someone named Alatamoth once… she was beautiful, with eyes just like yours, who meant more to me than anyone else in Middle-Earth excepting my lover at the time…"

"Of course," Menellómë was flattered, although it hurt Legolas that Menellómë could not remember that she was the true Alatamoth his daughter. "This Alatamoth… she sounds very special to you."

Legolas bowed his head down again, in attempt to hide his grief.

"Aye," he replied. "She was."

To be continued…


	8. Telling Tales

Author's Note:

Just to tell those who haven't noticed that I've changed the title from The Tale Of Fëagurth, even though the title of each chapter (as shown below this somewhat long Author's Note) will always remain, for example this chapter, The Tale Of Fëagurth Part 7: Telling Tales, etc. It is after all my biography, my life in Middle-Earth: the tale of my life and of my darker side.

I've fixed up all the errors and some motifs in the previous chapters due to the fact that my friends and I have decided to change some events in this, both past _and_ future. If you wish please go back and skim through the pages.

Swa a.k.a. Avardelothien, enjoy your love affair with Dee a.k.a "Ninrusco" :) I'll try and make it as sleazy… I mean romantic… as possible. *Cough! Cough!*

Also, there's a part in this chapter where I mention that Dúnedain look only two-thirds their actual age. I know it's meant to be about a half, but consider this an AU. Some of the dates that occur are already fixed in Tolkien's books and are unchangeable, but if I follow some of those dates I will either be too young for any of the events or would have to be born when my parents are about the age of three, which is… well… impossible :P so, following the dates that Tolkien already kindly provided, I hope you don't mind that all the Dúnedain in this story would look in the range of half to two-thirds their actual age, inclusive.

To other readers, which I doubt there's any at all *cries* there is a section in this chapter in which I mention something about all Dúnedain Humans knowing at least one language of Elvish. I forgot which book I got this from, Silmarillion or LotR, but I'm telling you now I didn't make this up. To hard-core Tolkien fans who already know this and are offended that I made you sound dumb, I'm terribly sorry but there may be a few people out there like my dear friend Finlos who doesn't take notice of the smaller, more acute aspects of the books.

Sorry, didn't mean that in the offensive way :)

Fëaruin Urulókë

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 7: Telling Tales

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Fëaruin stated as she and Avardelothien began to walk away from the other three, "what do you know of what happened that led to the betrothal between you and my brother?"

Avardelothien smiled. "Are you truly heir to the throne, Fëaruin?"

"Of course not," Fëaruin shook her head firmly. "The heir to the throne of Gondor is my father. My grandfather Eärnil is King, and only when he passes away and my father becomes King will I become heir to the throne."

"Ah yes, that's right," Avardelothien blushed, for she had known that before and merely forgotten it. "What is it like, being a female heir?"

Fëaruin grinned, looking very young, for indeed as a (presently fifteen-year-old) child of Dúnedain blood she looked approximately two-thirds her age and always will until the day of her death. "I know not, for not yet am I heir. But you are right. It is rare for a female to become heir, but unless my father has a son of his blood when he is King, I will be in line to receive the crown." (A/N: see Author's note at beginning of chapter)

"You mean Ninrusco is not… ah, I understand," Avardelothien remembered how tidings of Ninrusco always referred to him as _stepson of Eärnur_, and she smiled. "Forgive me, the excitement of arrival of personal guests for me has made me forgetful today."

"It is quite alright," Fëaruin patted the Elven Princess' shoulder sympathetically.

"So who is Ninrusco's blood father?" Avardelothien questioned. And as she spoke she felt the taste of him, his essence, that she had experienced during the kiss. She shuddered and forced herself not to retch, though it was admittedly somewhat sweet and enjoyable.

"I know not his name," she replied. "Ellasil my mother has several times told me, but very seldom do I remember."

"Oh, I see. What is your mother like?"

"She is beautiful, with orange-red hair like Ninrusco's- as you know mine is a very dark brownish-red by inheritance of brown from my father. And she knows perfect Elvish, as do my father and Ninrusco, whilst I am not extremely fluent yet."

"Your family knows Elvish?" Avardelothien was shocked. "How?"

"All Dúnedain know at least one Elven language, Avardelothien, from the close bonds that Men and Elves used to have long ago. And it is always passed down from generation to generation, so that sons and daughters would speak with our close friends also." (A/N: see Author's note at beginning of chapter)

"Amazing. I have learnt something new today," Avardelothien smiled. "Anyway, about your first question, Father and your father thought that it would fasten the bonds between Gondor and Mirkwood, as well as Men and Elves, if Ninrusco and I were to wed. According to our fathers the marriage between your brother and I was a perfect idea- since my brother is heir, and you will someday be heir, it ruled out your brother and I as mere Prince and Princess."

Fëaruin nodded understandingly, giving the future- or non-existent- relationship between Avardelothien and Ninrusco blessing, to which Avardelothien laughed and gave her thanks. As they walked to no particular place the midday sun shone rays of light through the tall trees, highlighting most of Fëaruin's brown-red mane into the legendary ruby-red which many have heard of but few have seen. Avardelothien saw this and smiled, taking time in the opportunity to bask in the warm red light.

"By the way, about your brother Legolas," Fëaruin suddenly said as she remembered his first expression, "he always looks so… I mean, he is very…"

"…Strange? Dispirited? Downhearted and despondent, never smiling, always having an expression as though he is about to weep?"

Fëaruin nodded. Avardelothien laughed fakely and nodded as well.

"Believe me, Fëaruin, many have said that in these last few years, even Father. Everyone can see his sorrow, for recently he has lost the maiden he loved more than anyone else in Middle-Earth."

"Really?"

Avardelothien bowed her head, a solemn look on her face. "Let me tell you about a Lady named Finlos."

*****

"YOU KILLED HER?!" Ninrusco and Menellómë gaped in disbelief. Legolas sighed at their reaction, resisting the temptation to scowl, for he wished that they hadn't uttered the words so loudly.

"I told you, it was an accident. I didn't realize the werewolf was Finlos…" he shook his head sadly. "Now because of my folly gone is my lover who brought to me everyday a light greater than the stars. I only hope now that she is presently at peace over the sea."

"I pray your grief lessen soon, Legolas," Ninrusco comforted. "I like you less when I see you so sad."

"Then who is this Alatamoth, who you claim to love greater than anyone but for Finlos?" Menellómë asked. Legolas flinched and ignored the question.

"So, Ninrusco…" he stated, "Whatever made you and Avardelothien scream before I came?"

Ninrusco raised an eyebrow, for he felt that Legolas was hiding something. All of a sudden a different thought came to mind as for the slightest moment he felt the kiss, and the sweet taste of the Elven maiden's breath… he shuddered and shook his head, reminding himself how bitterly he loathed arranged marriages because of the way it led to loveless bindings, and in thought he forced himself to detest Avardelothien. Although it didn't seem wrong to reminisce the taste of the kiss…

"Stop," Ninrusco's eye twitched. "Let's not go into that, please. For the sake of keeping my food down."

Legolas laughed and patted the Dúnadan's back sympathetically, feeling light-hearted already. "My brother-to-be, whatever happened, now I believe it may not be wise for me to know. I will disturb you of it no longer."

"Thank you," Ninrusco grinned.

There was a brief silence, which Legolas quickly broke. "Ninrusco, can I ask you something that has been plaguing me for a little while now?"

Ninrusco looked puzzled. "Yes, of course."

"…Does your sister always wear leggings?"

*****

Silence was dominant as the family of Thranduil and the company of Gondor sat on the wooden feast table that lay in the shelter of the King's home. Poor Thranduil sat quietly at the head of the table, hoping that someone would happily volunteer beginning a conversation, though everyone was hoping the same- for someone _else_ to commence speaking. Fëaruin and Menellómë sat facing each other- perpendicular to and on either side of the King, forming three sides of the shape of a square. Avardelothien took her place next to her new friend Fëaruin, which gave her a good glaring angle at Ninrusco, who sat across her next to Menellómë. Legolas sat at the end of the table with Avardelothien and Ninrusco on either side, looking quite amused at the glances everyone was exchanging.

Eventually Ninrusco grew weary of sitting across someone who kept glaring at him as he ate. However, the others did not seem to notice save Legolas, for Menellómë and Fëaruin were musing over the tale of Legolas' lover Finlos that Avardelothien and Legolas himself had told them, and Thranduil was almost too busy picking at his food in the impatient wait for a conversation to begin. In the end it was Ninrusco who reacted, unable to sit through it any longer.

"Are you trying to prove something?!" he gritted his teeth in agitation, breaking the silence and making Avardelothien narrow her eyes with even more scorn. "I hold nothing against you and I do not remember doing anything that was so bad that I actually deserve the poisonous stare of a stubborn Elven maiden whose eyes are far less safe than the burning fire of Orodruin!"

Avardelothien started at the insult. "Neither do I, _sir_, until you coughed and spluttered after meeting me and acknowledging my name. I had done nothing to you, and nothing did I hold against you… wait a moment, I hadn't even met you before! Suddenly a random Dúnadan walks up to me and loses his stomach in my presence! Unless you are not normal, you would perceive that I and everyone else in Middle-Earth would call that _strange_!"

"_You_ are strange, to consider yourself everyone in Middle-Earth," Ninrusco retorted. "Why, anyone who met you would not last five mere seconds beneath your venomous glare. Very well then, Lady. If you hate my insults let me _compliment_ you on being the only maiden in Middle-Earth who has a nature uniquely stubborn enough to be more frightening than the Witch-King!"

"At least I _am_ that frightening," answered Avardelothien angrily. "Whoever runs away beneath the valiant power of oh-so-mighty Slender Fox of Gondor may not even exist in your dreams!"

Ninrusco feigned a smile, though it quivered due to the fact that his heart was furious with insult deep within. "Why would I need to dream of someone who cannot match up my power? A few already can't, although I realize that many others still can. Many have heard of my skills at youth, whilst I've never even heard of you until my stepfather arranged for me to marry you!"

"Maybe you've heard nothing of me because my father had kept me from all eyes and ears of the public. Mayhaps I possess some great beauty that was too secret to reveal?"

"Or mayhaps NOT!"

Avardelothien almost choked with insult when she finally understood what he implied; that she had been hidden due to horrendous looks, which she herself knew was not so because she was in truth and admittedly very beautiful. She stood angrily and beckoned for him to take the fight outside as she stormed out, Fëaruin rising as well, following worriedly and frantically rambling at the headstrong she-Elf to cease the madness. Ninrusco followed right behind Fëaruin, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth again. Thranduil sighed, although he had expected worse from the way his daughter reacted to the arranged marriage in the first place.

"Legolas, why don't you go after them," he uttered.

Legolas nodded and followed last, genuinely worried about his new friend. He and Ninrusco had indeed grown quite close for brothers-to-be who had just met that very day, and he was more concerned that Ninrusco would end up half-dead on the ground because of Avardelothien rather than of the image of him slaying the Elf maiden in the merry war.

Running outside beneath the trees he came at last to Avardelothien raising a powerful fist, Ninrusco sarcastically looking afraid, and Fëaruin standing in between to try and stop the argument. Somehow as Legolas gazed at the three he felt that something was the way it was not meant to be; and after pondering long enough to give Avardelothien time to bruise Ninrusco's nose (although she didn't) he let out a gasp of shock, causing three heads to whirl around to him, startled half to death.

"U… Urulókë!" he shrieked.

"What's wrong?!" the three of them cried, seeing his horrified expression.

"…Is wearing a gown…" he uttered, and fell to the ground.

__

=MEANWHILE=

Thranduil and Menellómë looked at each other as they continued to eat, being very curious. After some time Thranduil began to realize something that seemed very strange. The foster child of Eärnur looked similar- if not identical- to Legolas, save the color of her eyes and her hair. However, he ignored it in the belief that it was possible for any Hobbit child, including Menellómë, to possess a likeness to his son.

"You know, the only way for those two to ever wed in peace is to play match-maker in order for them to like each other," Thranduil suddenly jested to the Hobbit-child. "It seems that going any other way, they would both end up mortally hurt."

"Indeed," Menellómë smiled sweetly at the King who she knew was trying to provide some light relief, before realizing exactly _what_ he'd said.

"Hmm… match-maker…"

To be continued…


	9. Naughty Ideas

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 8: Naughty Ideas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__

=MANY WAR-FILLED DAYS LATER=

Fëaruin sat on a flat rock, watching her new friend and her half-brother nearby who would be better described as nose-and-nose rather than face-to-face, hands on their hips, yelling words of insult to one another. At last Avardelothien threw her hands up in utter disgust and left the scene, at the very same time that Legolas arrived. A deep sigh of despair and frustration escaped Fëaruin as he passed her, and stopped right beside the child, though they looked in opposite directions.

"As I am _not_ irresponsible and can be trusted, _I_ will watch over him," said Legolas. Fëaruin did not smile, for she did not like the tone that he had used.

"Thank you, for you are a good friend to my brother. In return for your generosity, I shall go after your sister."

"You are wearing leggings again," he suddenly noticed, turning his head. "Why do you always insist on looking so masculine, Urulókë?"

"…Because," Fëaruin began, "I was born with a fiery heart that desires to surpass most males in the arts of fighting, especially my father, who is one of the most determined and skilled warriors in Middle-Earth. I have always disagreed that women should stay under a roof and feed the children when they have the power to do much more than they realize. Thus I cannot fly with an arrow fitted as well as males could if I do not dress the way they do."

"Surpass males? I'd like to see that, red-headed fiddle-player," uttered Legolas, his eyes gleaming in challenge. Seeing this made Fëaruin narrow hers.

"What was that meant to imply, Master Elf?"

Legolas feigned surprise. "Naught," he replied, and watched as Fëaruin looked at him suspiciously before finally running off in the direction Avardelothien had passed.

Ninrusco sighed as he sat, annoyed. But Legolas neutrally sat next to him, having almost no expression and watching Ninrusco who was trying to hide a deep upset in his heart.

"I desire home," the Dúnadan said bitterly. "Maybe I should never have come here."

"If you came here, we would never have met," smiled Legolas. "I have just realized how much of a friend you've been to me since your first day here. Even with my sorrow and grief of Finlos, I… I have learnt to smile again because of you."

"Thank you," laughed Ninrusco. "Already I could not imagine going somewhere away from Mirkwood without you by my side as a responsible friend."

"An Elf and a Dúnadan? Sounds like a dangerous combination."

Ninrusco bowed his head again, allowing a shadow to form over his face. "Especially when it comes to Avardelothien and I."

Legolas touched Ninrusco's arm sympathetically. "Why is it you are so sad and bitter about your arguments with my sister when you do not even desire her? Why be so sorrowful when you loathe betrothals and your own arranged bride?"

"I'm not," Ninrusco fought. "It's just…"

Legolas stopped him and grinned. "What, do you think I do not know how you feel? I felt this way before Finlos and I were officially lovers, because she was so annoying and it was impossible to shut her mouth because the size of it was no different from a Warg's. But she was so beautiful and caring, despite her cruel wit which was quite intelligent anyway, and I ended up loving her beyond all other things in Middle-Earth. Now I am able to understand how you feel, when you yourself do not. But, my friend: I only understand a small part. What happened, I ask you again, that has given you mixed emotions like this?"

Ninrusco froze, though it did not prevent Legolas' gaze from continuing to pierce right through him. Ninrusco smiled, however, at the smile of trust the Elf was giving him, and he smiled back, sighing as he realized he could not speak untruthfully.

"I… I kissed her," he confessed in embarrassment. "I- I had no idea what came over me, but it was as though a spell bound us together, though at that time we did not even know each other's names. It was enchanting up until the moment she realized who I was and I realized who _she_ was."

By this time, Legolas was near to running away to throw up behind the nearest bush.

"Ah, so that is why you were choking and spluttering afterwards."

"Aye, it was."

A brief silence occurred as the two sat together wordlessly, not knowing what to say. However, it was broken by the little one that sprang out of the bushes, making the hearts of Ninrusco and Legolas jump into the roof of their mouths.

"Alatamoth," Legolas tried to swallow his heart again, "You are skilled in the art of frightening people."

"Thank you," Menellómë giggled. "Ninrusco, I come bearing a message from Lady Avardelothien."

"Oh?" he responded interestedly, though it was a bitter interest.

"She says… oh wait one moment, please forgive me," she puffed in weariness, feigning shock. "I could not believe it myself, but she said that she regretted yelling at you, for the pressures of the past had forced her to defend herself thusly. And she asks forgiveness because she hated arranged marriages and though she had nothing against you she had lashed out at you due to such loath…"

"Menellómë," Ninrusco interrupted, "Do you know exactly why I don't believe you?"

Menellómë laughed fakely, in a short, wild outburst, which ceased to complete silence within only three seconds. "What, pray tell, are you talking about?"

"First of all, several days ago Avardelothien claimed to hate me for what I am and also for arranged marriages, so it _would_ seem suspicious to me that all of a sudden with her incredibly stubborn nature she would take back what she said and send over a messenger to bring her suddenly gentle intentions," Ninrusco stated pointedly, which made Legolas burst into laughter. "Second, dear Menellómë, I still bear a memory of when you tried to match my brat of a sister up with the son of the Prince of Ithilien who was so skilled in playing the fiddle and boasted so much of his claim that he was better than her that she broke her fiddle on him."

"When was this? What happened?" Menellómë asked, puzzled.

"Last year, when he had come with his father to Minas Tirith to discuss trade?"

"Oh him!" Menellómë laughed, "The boy with arms like twigs. Yes, I remember Fëaruin and the fiddle breaking in half over is bony head. But what did _I_ do?"

"You told her about the same thing, except without the arranged marriage part. She despised him and as a cruel joke you tried to make them come together."

"Oh," the memories flooded back to the Hobbit child. "It didn't work, eh? I guess this wouldn't work now, either, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

With Legolas rolling on the ground in uncontrollable laughter and Ninrusco giving her a victorious stare through narrowed eyes, Menellómë left, hoping that things with Avardelothien may work better than with the all-seeing Ninrusco.

*****

Fëaruin shook Avardelothien's shoulders, trying to get a word out of the quiet Elf.

"Tell me! What did you do? It cannot honestly be that bad," Fëaruin pleaded.

"No," the Elven Princess stated firmly.

"…Will you not spare even a small hint to amuse me?"

Avardelothien sealed her lips, firmly shaking her head. "Just think of it as… we met, we greeted each other, we screamed when each knew the other's name. Nothing happened, Fëaruin! I loathe betrothals for I believe that as soon as the wedding is passed the couple suffers in a loveless marriage. If you… if you understand, Fëaruin, I may have liked Ninrusco better if we hadn't been forced into an arranged relationship- a relationship against our own will."

"Why do you care?" Fëaruin questioned.

Avardelothien was surprised at the bold-sounding remark, although she knew that the content of the question had no offence. "What do you mean?" she inquired.

"Avardelothien my friend, I would not like to be with a person I do not love so I understand what you are getting at. But I do not understand this: why do you care that this betrothal will affect your friendship with my brother when only a few days ago you said-or at least hinted- that you hated him more than anyone else you've ever known?" stated Fëaruin pointedly. "I strongly believe that the two of you are potentially friends, though the only thing keeping that back is your insincere detesting by a relationship you did not choose."

"Why would you think that?" Avardelothien retorted. "I cannot stand him for his annoying nature, and I desire not his friendship!"

Fëaruin opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off when a small form walked into the garden, where they were sitting comfortably on random tree stumps. Menellómë felt their eyes move to her as she walked into the scene, and cleared her throat nervously.

"Avardelothien, Lady of Mirkwood," she curtseyed, "I come bearing a message from Lord Ninrusco. He says…"

"Sorry, Menellómë," stated Avardelothien. "Legolas came to me in the last hour and told me about the little trick you played on Ninrusco."

Menellómë stiffened. "Lady, you will not punish me for such a deed…?"

Avardelothien only smiled. "Of course not, Menellómë, for I know you mean no intentional upset. But let this be a lesson learned; you cannot fool me so easily."

Fëaruin struggled to suppress her laughter as Menellómë walked away defeated for the second time. Deception to make one fall in love with another is not going to be easy, after all.

*****

__

=A FEW HOURS LATER=

Avardelothien yawned bitterly as she walked into Thranduil's private garden, having bickered with Ninrusco again for the sixty-fourth time since they'd met. She was by now getting far too tired for her own good- it was almost certain that the next time she even lays her eyes on the damned young Dúnadan, her heart would force her entire body to explode in a passionate fit of anger.

Always did she find contentment in her father's garden; for it was as an oasis of solitude. A clearing it was, with several trees bordering tall and slender, and in the midst was an old stone bridge that allowed passage to the next part of the forestry. It lay over a long, deep crevasse in which grew grass and flowers that made the dry stream bed seen less menacing. It was where most of her bitter past encounters with the company of Gondor had taken place, but even so the land was like treasure to her, her secret Heaven on Earth.

Seeing Menellómë seated on a tree branch, she smiled quickly and hastened her steps, finally taking her place leaning against the same tree. The branch on which Menellómë sat was to her left and above her golden-brown head, and so she had to look up at the small Hobbit who was grinning back down at her.

"Let me guess…" Menellómë drawled, intentionally leaving the remark unfinished. The Elven Princess smiled sarcastically at her unbeknownst niece.

"Oh, very funny," she stated. "I cannot stand that child! I feel so upset by the decision such a wise one as my father could make for me to bond with such an immature, irritating child!"

"He is not a child. He is a young Man, Lady."

"You may call me by my name, you know," Avardelothien interrupted. "And yes, he _is_ a child! By age of the Dúnedain he is entering adulthood I know, but in nature his maturity does not exceed that of a two-year-old boy's. I wish he would be more like my brother. And you know, I see him taking such a strange liking to you, Menellómë… You have become so close to him in such a period of time. Usually even _he_ does not gain friendship _that_ quickly…"

At that very moment, Ninrusco happened to walk by, searching for his now reasonably close friend Legolas. However, as soon as his foot stepped into Thranduil's glade, his eyes passed across Menellómë on a nearby tree branch, talking softly to Avardelothien who was leaning against its trunk. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he ducked behind a nearby shrub, ears alert as a bat's.

"He is a gentleman all the same," he heard Avardelothien say. "Well I admit he _was_ acting a little strange towards the whole betrothal issue, and he would often tell me what to do, which annoyed me. But I hope now he is all right with all the arguments which I hope will soon die down…"

__

No, I'm not all right with it. I loathe you and I desire leave, Ninrusco thought, not realizing she was speaking of Legolas.

"Yes. I hope that he would give you proper support and not boss you around, when he has potential of being a close friend and brother to you. That is, if he is not always engrossed in his own thoughts."

"Even so," Avardelothien smiled softly, "I do not care. It will one day melt away in his mind, whatever it is, and be the good companion you say he has potential of converting into. And for that I will always love him."

Ninrusco froze. _She loves me,_ he thought. How Avardelothien managed to notice he was distressed and always engrossed in thinking of the outcome of the betrothal was beyond his understanding. It was a surprise she even noticed him at all. But all he could really think of was… _she loves me_. The same three words began to repeat itself in his mind before he crept away from the bushes, trying to decide what to do.

*****

A few hours later, Avardelothien calmly beheld the stars, standing on the dirt path in Mirkwood. Ninrusco, off his guard, was only a short distance away. Yet they did not see each other, for both were engrossed in their own thoughts; Avardelothien was devising a way to strangle Ninrusco without fail, whilst Ninrusco was musing upon that which he'd heard Avardelothien say earlier.

When Avardelothien heard footsteps behind her, she immediately scrambled off the path and dove behind a rock, fearing it was the pest of a Dúnadan that was slender fox in her own tongue. However, her fears were unfortunately true. Immediately was her fist clenched when she saw the miserable nuisance walk by her, and so deep in her anger was she that she hardly noticed the helpless, solemn expression upon his face.

"Why so sorrowful?" A voice said.

Ninrusco smiled and looked up towards a tree branch, off which Menellómë suddenly jumped, raising Avardelothien's heart into her throat. Menellómë merely took a pitiful look at Ninrusco, and he held out his arms, needing comfort in an embrace.

"Many thoughts are stirring in my mind, Menellómë," Ninrusco sighed. Menellómë smirked.

"Of the betrothal?" she squeezed him, before releasing him from the hug. "Remember what your mother and father, Crown Princess Ellasil and Crown Prince Eärnur, said. If you are unhappy then let us send a messenger to Gondor to inform them firmly. You should take advantage of something whilst the opportunity is there, friend."

"No… it is not that, Menellómë," Ninrusco uttered slowly. This made Menellómë raise her eyebrows interestedly.

"Then what could it be?" she grinned suggestively.

Ninrusco stiffened, making Avardelothien- who was watching from behind the large rock- even more curious. "I… I don't know what my feelings are," he confessed. In a way I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about Avardelothien before. I say to myself that I loathe her, yet on the day we met we were spellbound, and it was as though… a wonderful and pleasant magical power had brought us together. Oh, I do not know. Maybe I _am_ in love with her…"

The words hit the Elf-Princess like a stone brick. Ninrusco loved her? Considering how their past encounters had been, anyone would have thought that the Dúnadan was plotting to sneak up on her and smite her with a mace.

"You do?" Menellómë beamed, hope shining in her eyes.

Ninrusco nodded. "But I cannot… it is not something I can easily confess, not even to myself. The shame of loving someone who will not admit any feelings for me, whether she has any or not, is great. I think it is best if I just go home to Gondor, forget about all this, and be glad that if she despised me at least I had not truly found out for myself. Although, if I return to Minas Tirith, I will miss Legolas very much…"

Ninrusco turned and walked away, leaving a stunned Menellómë and Avardelothien behind, though there was a moderate difference between the actions of the two maidens. Menellómë left straight after Ninrusco was out of sight, afterwards striding in the opposite direction. But Avardelothien stayed behind the rock for several hours in silence, hugging her knees; for confusion, surprise, love and helplessness stirred within her. But even so one thing was for sure; the loath warred inside of her no more.

*****

"Hey, you are wearing a gown again!" Avardelothien laughed. Fëaruin raised a dark eyebrow.

"Avardelothien, unless you forgot, I am female. Even though I desire to be successful in valiant terms and wish to surpass at least my hot-blooded father, it does not mean that I also dress the way they do when I am not having my training sessions."

"So you do have a feminine side, hmm?"

"You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" Fëaruin smirked as Ninrusco came into the hallway after turning a corner.

Immediately he stiffened, flushed and turned his face away, avoiding the Elven Princess' gaze. Fëaruin sneered interestedly at the reaction, touching her brother's arm as she passed him upon leaving.

Ninrusco did not like what she was implying, whatever it may be, but he went forth anyway and this time forced himself to look into Avardelothien's radiant eyes. Such confusion shone in the brilliant blue, and they both openly stared for a few moments, a bright blush spreading quickly across their cheeks. This is the slender fox of Gondor, who Avardelothien suddenly realized was more handsome than she had thought before. More incredibly, he was _her_ slender fox, reserved for her heart. The thought stirred within her as something hardly believable, a true blessing of love that she should fulfil while she had the chance.

"Ninrusco, I heard what you said," Avardelothien stated finally, breaking the silence.

Ninrusco stared in confusion. "What… what do you mean?"

"When you spoke to Menellómë," Avardelothien uttered softly, reaching up a smooth hand to caress his face. "When you said that maybe… maybe you loved me."

Ninrusco froze, white as a sheet. He instantly became so embarrassed… Fëanna had heard him? However, she understood his discomfort and with her friendly eyes assured him not to worry, that what she was about to say would not be said with words of hatred.

"This… this is beyond belief," she wept in relief. "I was right in my first judgement, before I knew your name. The handsome boy I kissed would be the one for me, my beloved. What blessing has brought to hear you at the very moment those feelings were released from within you? I am not cursed you are my betrothed… I am indeed blessed."

Ninrusco smiled, reaching up a hand to hold hers. "To be truthful, I fell for you because I heard you speak to Menellómë as well…" he confessed dreamily, kissing the pale hand that had caressed his face in comfort. "I heard you telling Menellómë that you loved me also..."

Avardelothien was leaning into the touch, but suddenly something in her head snapped. "What? I never confessed I had feelings for you until just now."

Ninrusco released the hand, completely puzzled. "But I heard you say so. I heard you say I was a gentleman, that I had potential of being to you a friend and brother, and that you loved me. I fell in love with you immediately at hearing those words, and I am so sure, it was no dream!"

"Gentleman? But I was speaking of Legolas…"

Suddenly, insult and anger blazed in their eyes as the realization struck them both. "…MENELLÓMË!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

To be continued…


	10. Last Resort

Author's Note:

As you may have noticed Part 8 was a little longer than the parts Prologue to seven. This story was actually hand-written before it was typed, so I came to realize eventually that the chapters I am uploading are far too short. Part 8 was actually two hand-written chapters combined for my uploading on ff.net (therefore the second half of Part 8 would have before been this chapter). I am just writing to say that most of the chapters will now be longer, as I will begin to combine two chapters at a time, except for those hand-written chapters which will be important on their own.

I hope you have enjoyed the story thus far!

Fëaruin

****

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 9: Last Resort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again supper was eaten in silence as Thranduil, Fëaruin, Avardelothien, Legolas, Ninrusco and Menellómë sat around the feast table respectively. Again Thranduil and Fëaruin silently wished a healthy conversation took place, feeling highly uncomfortable, and again Legolas was looking with amusement at the glances all were exchanging. Though this time, Avardelothien and Ninrusco had better things to do than to glare at straight across the table at each other; they glared at Menellómë instead.

Also, they could _not_ look upon each other at all. Each were ashamed and sorrowful to discover the other only loved them after hearing that they were loved by the one themselves, when the words came out of wrong and deception. Sadness enveloped their hearts… a sorrow which realized that the other perhaps did not love them genuinely after all. They did not even bicker or throw small objects at each other as they used to do in their attempt to mask their fear of the arranged marriage. They were silent, embarrassed that they had confessed love to one that they _should_ loathe, one who maybe… maybe did not truly have the feelings they had promised…

Menellómë grunted, as she saw the pairs of eyes upon her. "Look, Ninrusco, Avardelothien. I told you already; I may have tried to before but this time I did not purposely plan this as a match-making jest. How was I meant to know that Avardelothien was listening to my words with Ninrusco? And how would I know Ninrusco was dropping his eaves whilst my words with Avardelothien took place?"

Ninrusco swallowed his piece of dried fruit and turned his glare away from the Hobbit-child. "Just maybe you told her to come and secretly listen. I know this not, do I?"

"And you tried to match us up last time," Avardelothien cut in pointedly. "How are we meant to believe that you would not do the same this time?"

Thranduil and Fëaruin gave each other uncomfortable looks, noting the harshness in each of the three voices. Wiping their mouth with a piece of cloth they quickly stood and left, not desiring to be part of the argument.

Menellómë watched at the King and the Princess leaving, before turning her eyes back to the remaining Dúnadan and two Elves. "Obviously I didn't, Ninrusco, for Avardelothien would have reacted differently to your comment; perhaps making a remark to confirm that I'd told her to eavesdrop which I didn't. On the other hand Avardelothien, why would I use talking to Ninrusco who I did not force to say he loved you- and who wouldn't if I had anyway seeing how much he claimed to depise you- as a plot against you?!"

"I don't know!" Avardelothien yelled, rising from her chair. "Only one who desires to lose trust would play a cruel jest alike this!"

Ninrusco rose from his chair as well. "And who would trust you then, if you ask to lose their trust? I pray next time your actions be chosen wisely before it wounds someone's heart!"

Menellómë groaned, and hissed in frustration. "I told you once, I told you many times…" she snarled, but it was too late. By the time she uttered the first word of her next phrase Ninrusco and Avardelothien had already stormed out of the building, heading for different directions through the two doorless arches on opposite sides of the room.

Menellómë sighed in embarrassment and sat back down, hoping Legolas- who was giving her an amused look- would not make any comment about what just happened. But being her secret sire, he understood. He did not wish to further embarrass the young one, so he began a careful conversation instead, just as Thranduil had before.

"Worry not, Alatamoth. I am on your side," he reassured, biting into a strip of dried meat. Menellómë moaned in despair.

"Thank you, Legolas," she muttered. "'Tis good that at least _someone_ believes my innocence."

Legolas laughed softly. "Since when did I say I believed your innocence?"

Menellómë raised an eyebrow, giving the Elf a pointed look. "Very funny, Legolas. Let me commend you on being the first jester _not_ to make me laugh."

"Well forgive me then, beautiful Lady," the Elf whispered as he stood, reached over and took the Hobbit's hand, which he tenderly kissed. "I cannot help jesting, for many of the young like to yield to merriment. I have been thinking about many things these days…"

"Like your sister's betrothal?"

"…Aye. There were other things on my mind of course, but Fëanna has really reached the point of attention-catchingly dangerous courage where I cannot look at her without sighing in frustration. Ninrusco is fair-hearted and true… but she does not seem to see that, until recently, then her anger turns on _another_. I am beginning to think that the only way to bring them together is to trap them in a room and then lock it."

Hearing this, Menellómë's face melted into a mischievous smirk.

"Hmm… trap them…"

*****

"I cannot believe such a young one would be brave enough to do that," Avardelothien protested accusingly as she noticed the Human walking towards her at an angle.

This made Fëaruin flinch as she reached the Elf-Princess' side. "But she didn't do it, Fëanna. Menellómë is usually honest, and I do not wish to go against your words, but of this I'm fairly sure she is not lying."

"Yes, I understand why…" Avardelothien sighed, pouting a little. "I guess it _is_ impossible for her to plan to have Ninrusco listening whilst she was speaking to me. For all that matter, he only heard a part and not the rest."

"There we go!" smiled Fëaruin. "…Well not impossible, just really difficult. If you understand, I'm not taking sides, but…"

"Believe me Urulókë, I understand," the Elf-Princess laughed. Suddenly she turned, grabbed the Dúnadan by the shoulders and said, "Fëaruin, do you see something between Menellómë and my brother?"

Fëaruin snapped. "YES! The other day, I had seen them riding on a horse _together_. He was taking her for a ride with him, and they were laughing together as if they'd grown _really_ close… not that I'm saying they haven't, because I know they have…"

"Riding… on a horse…" Avardelothien had not take the words in completely.

Fëaruin nodded. "_Together._"

"On… a horse…"

"On the _same_ horse."

Silence was dominant for a few moments as the two princesses looked at each other with raised eyebrows. After a long pause only one word escaped their mouths: "…Woah."

"Woah what?" said a voice. Avardelothien whirled around to see Menellómë leaning against a tree casually, a smirk upon her face. The Elf sighed in despair.

"Oh, 'tis you Menellómë," she muttered with a not-so-enthusiastic voice. "What do you want?"

Menellómë wrinkled her nose at this, but she understood completely how angry and upset the Elf was. "I wish to make amends, Lady Fëanna," she bowed, a beautiful smile adorning her face. "I never meant to hurt you, and if you were offended, I must apologize you feel that way. But your brother and I have prepared a great feast for you as a gesture of peace."

"A feast for me?" Avardelothien beamed, starting. "Well, come on, Fëaruin! You and I, we should go."

"No, no," Fëaruin quickly shook her head, for Menellómë had already spoken to her of her intentions. "My stomach is content from dinner in the last hour; you should go ahead alone, Avardelothien. It is _your_ feast; I desire not to intrude."

"Oh, are you sure?" Avardelothien offered a final time. Fëaruin grinned.

"Absolutely."

"Then let us go!" cheered the Mirkwood Princess to Menellómë. "Lead the way, little one!"

*****

"A feast for me?" Ninrusco brightened. Menellómë smiled at the Dúnadan, making Legolas beside him smirk.

"Sure, sure Ninrusco. I know exactly what a lover of wolfing down food you are and, I desiring to make amends, it all fits. There is no catch behind this…" Menellómë crossed her fingers behind her back.

"No catch, eh?" Ninrusco stared suspiciously, as she cheerfully linked arms with him and skipped through the Mirkwood trees, dragging him along. "I find _that_ hard to believe."

"Look, do you want the feast, or do you not?"

Ninrusco shut his mouth, allowing the Hobbit to lead the way He did not know where they were going, and he put his trust in her completely; though as they walked on, he noticed that the trees loomed above their heads taller and darker. Soon enough, they came to a little outdoor room, much like a hut- which, in fact, it truly was. The door was, rather eerily, shut fast.

"Right here," Menellómë looked at the door. Ninrusco raised an eyebrow at the little one, who walked forward and began picking at the lock.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as Menellómë slammed the door open. "It looks a place so shoddy for a feast to take place."

"I am surprised, brother. You are intelligent," Fëaruin's voice suddenly came. And the last thing Ninrusco saw as he whirled around was his sister pushing him inside with a great strength; and the two maidens smirking as Menellómë slammed the door shut and locked it again.

__

=MEANWHILE=

Avardelothien was sitting alone in the shadows when she heard a muffled cry from outside, and suddenly the door swung open and the Slender Fox Of Gondor shoved into the room with her before the door was slammed shut once again. She neutrally stood and walked over to Ninrusco, half-lying on the floor, completely bewildered.

"What in the name of Ilúvatar…?" Ninrusco uttered, and whirled his head around quickly as he heard footsteps behind him.

Avardelothien narrowed her eyes. "For a good purpose, I guess we have been trapped."

*****

Ninrusco wiped the sweat from his brow and removed his cloak, his actions already taking most of the energy from him. As he prepared himself to proceed; he glared at the door and rolled up his sleeves, determined to complete what he had begun- to achieve utterly whatever he desired. Raising his clenched fists, he pounded hard on the door and yelled "LET ME OUT!!!!"

Avardelothien merely stared at the queer nature of her betrothed, and soon enough she could stand this no more. "Ninrusco, stop that horrible noise!" she complained. "I wish not to think of the pain that my fellow Elves outside are suffering- with their sensitive Elven ears and all."

"Well if they _were_ suffering from my loudness, unless they are not of a right mind I believe it is their cue to come to our aid," he protested, continuing to pound on the door.

Avardelothien sighed, rose from the small box on which she had been sitting for the past hour and caught Ninrusco's arm. "Stop, Ninrusco," she said firmly. "I believe there is a good reason for Menellómë to trap us here that we can actually put to use rather than to constantly complain. Have a seat."

Ninrusco turned and raised his eyebrow. "Seat? There is nothing here but wooden boxes."

"Just sit, will you."

The Human sighed, and sitting down he prepared himself for whatever Avardelothien was planning to say. She gazed at him thoughtfully, piercing his mind with her brilliant eyes.

"What shall we do about our betrothal?" she asked neutrally. "Are you going to marry me, or are you planning to return home to your parents as you had wished before?

Ninrusco flinched, not perceiving what answer she expected from him. "I know not at this moment in time. Perhaps I will remain, for the greatness of Mirkwood is pleasing to me and I desire not to leave behind its splendor. But whether we will end up wedded… I know not, for the determination I had to be able to make a decision for myself has been lost."

Pain surged through Avardelothien's heart at the words. "So you might not wed me?"

Ninrusco was surprised at how upset Avardelothien sounded, and tried not to be too hostile with his former foe. "I said, I know not. It _is_ good for strengthening the bond between Gondor and Mirkwood. But a loveless marriage can be to an Elf a deadly grief, so I would not wed you unless you loved me or unless I wanted you dead. And neither of the two is true."

Avardelothien sighed, and spoke honestly. "I would not hate being married to you, Ninrusco. I would not die of grief because for certain I do not hate you at all. I was wrong, Ninrusco, and I regret it _so much_. All this time I loathed you just because I did not think you were worth marrying me, and instead I dreamed of belonging to someone who I loved and who loved me in return. But then I saw a different side of you. I saw your heart when you told Menellómë that maybe you loved me… and I was sure you were being sincere."

Ninrusco nodded, confirming her words. Avardelothien, sighing, smiled a little and continued. "What you said to her, It meant more to me than anything anyone else had ever said about me, and it means so much. I know that it is wrong that we were deceived and we should not wed. But I care not, for I find it good a deed in my heart that someone who loathes me so much can say words that echo sweeter than a lyre. I am sorry… I did not mean to be so bitter."

"Nay nay, Fëanna," Ninrusco interrupted, "I never said that we should not wed, just that it may feel wrong because we were chosen and chose not each other. If you agree to this wedding, I would not hate being married to you either, even if it shan't be easy for us to make friends first. And do not apologize! We both agreed not to an arranged marriage and that was why we loathed each other so much. Should we not have been betrothed I am sure our feelings wouldn't have been the same… but then again, since I came only for the betrothal, we wouldn't ever have met. Legolas and I would never have met… and you would never have met my sister."

"Frightening thought, isn't it?" Avardelothien agreed. "So… what will happen between us?"

Ninrusco looked at the young face, which was… so innocently beautiful. He never realized it before but a glimmer of sadness and fear in her eyes seemed to take away the radiance that shone from within most Elves. Without it this beautiful maiden who seemed always so strong of wit and defense seemed vulnerable, something easily hurt… and needed protection.

So he took her smooth, pale hands, and held them tight in his own as he stared her directly in the eyes to emphasize what he was saying. "If you love me Avardelothien daughter of Thranduil, I will wed you freely."

Avardelothien gasped. She hadn't expected this to come along so easily and she was shocked rather than thrilled, shaking her head quickly.

"You cannot, Ninrusco! I do not want you to feel as though you are obligated to marry me. I do not want you to feel sorry for me and wed me only for that reason for you… you are throwing your future away by saying so! I refuse to wed you if it is only out of sympathy, because I am only going to end up worse than before, than during our arguments when we first met."

"I said I will wed you freely, at my own choice! You asked me what is to happen, did you not?" Ninrusco exclaimed, hurt at her words. "You are irritating and always know how to hurt my feelings, but I still like you very much for the maiden that you are!"

Suddenly Avardelothien burst into laughter, making Ninrusco look at her in confusion. "You are sweet," she said, grinning. "And I admit something had gone through me that first day, something I could not understand. You are also very strange and annoying, but in a good way I guess."

"Thanks," Ninrusco smiled sarcastically. "I guess Elves always think of the Dúnedain that way. Just because Elves are so fair, and shall remain eternally so in Arda unless they are slain or die of grief… they think of us mortals as not to even dare loving someone high above us."

"Not true, Ninrusco. Remember Beren and Lúthien of the First Age. And some Elves are not as arrogant as you say; most of us do not care that Men are not as superior a being as we are. We love our brothers, whether they are fairer than we are or not. And you have been given a very valuable gift from the great Ilúvatar, for whilst Elves remain in Arda forever dealing with weariness and pain for the rest of our immortal lives you have been granted eventual death. So do not say that Elves are more privileged in this world for the ones that remain for many millennia in weariness wish they have what Eru gave _you_."

Ninrusco was stunned. "I guess we are so different then in thought, and yet can learn from each other. It is strange how from each perspective we see the other race as having the advantage. But once we hear _their_ views… feelings can change so quickly."

"That is exactly what my father and your stepfather intended. This is why they arranged for us to be married. Though I detest them for it I can now understand that it is for our people. You and I, Ninrusco, we are privileged to be reared in noble families, for the purpose of a monarchy is to ensure that the safety and value of our kingdoms remain. As Prince of Gondor and Princess of Mirkwood our people _do_ come a priority before love, which was what our fathers knew already. Though I do in some ways love you, believe me."

"…_Hennaid Evyr_, Avardelothien."

Avardelothien smiled and clapped his shoulder. "So, are we or are we not going through with this betrothal?"

Ninrusco grinned mockingly. "Do you or do you not want to marry me?"

"I wouldn't mind at all, my friend. I just hope that this relationship will not be an experience so terrifying that both of us will end up fleeing from here towards opposite directions."

"…_Hannad_, Fëanna…"

"_Lle creoso_, Ninrusco." (You're welcome.)

"You never tire of jests, do you?"

"Come now, even _you_ know me better than that. Now, shall we make my father very happy and tell him of our decision?"

"As soon as we escape," Ninrusco raised an eyebrow, and a smirk appeared on his face.

*****

Legolas, Menellómë and Fëaruin were sitting outside the little solid hut when a very familiar sound reached their ears; the contact of Ninrusco's fist with the door.

"Let us out!" Ninrusco and Avardelothien's voices cried from inside. Fëaruin and Menellómë looked briefly at each other, before smiling and shaking their heads.

"Not until you have come to an agreement," Menellómë declared.

"But we have!" protested Avardelothien, her voice from inside sounding muffled. "Ninrusco and I have talked about this issue thoroughly and we have decided to wed of our own free will. Now open the latch so we can go tell the King of our resolution."

Immediately the Elf, the half-Hobbit and the Dúnadan sprang from the rocks on which they sat, shocked half to death. "YOU WHAT?!"

*****

It was five years later, only five years after they met, that Avardelothien and Ninrusco had a grand wedding in Mirkwood. All the Elves of the kingdom came to celebrate, ambassadors and other representatives of Gondor were sent to the occasion, and the Royal Company of Gondor and Mirkwood stood beside the Elven Princess and the Human Prince as their hands were clasped, finally accepting each other in love and friendship; the first of the two Human-and-Elf marriages to be explained specifically in this account.

It was true that indeed that their wedding strengthened the bond of Mirkwood and Gondor for years to come, and Eärnur- though he could not come- even sent an exclusive letter to the couple to voice his congratulations. A great feast was held, and so was a ball that lasted many nights, bringing joy and boundless pleasures to those that attended it.

And so the relationship of Avardelothien Fëanna and Ninrusco- which was not a loveless one- was created, and never again to each other did they ever say a cruel or spiteful word save in jest.

To be continued…


	11. Discovery

Author's Note:

There is a character here that you may remember from Part 6- very vaguely, that is. Just noting that if you would prefer to wait for Part 13 and not spoil that surprise, that would actually be better. But if you wish to go back to Part 6 (Exalted Flower) and see who this character is, I'm not stopping you :)

By the way, there are a few places here where I describe myself as "innocently pretty". In Middle-Earth I am not as beautiful as an Elf but, hey, I don't see myself as gorgeous or pretty in real life, so I hope you'll be alright with me being pretty _at least_ in Tolkien's world :)

Fëaruin Urulókë

The Tale of Fëagurth

Part 10: Discovery

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years later, when Fëaruin turned twenty-eight, a young Elf ran through the trees of Mirkwood, trying to follow the shimmering brown-red head. Thirteen years had Mirkwood been the home of the young Human, and- being a representative of Gondor- she was becoming quite well-known around the kingdom, learning much from the Elves; including how to communicate in their tongue more fluently than when she only had her non-Elven mother to teach her, and also some different tactics in the fighting skill of the Elves. And it was all thanks to her Elvish teacher and close friend Avardelothien.

Much about Fëaruin had changed; determined to achieve her goal as a great warrior she had trained hard almost everyday for hours until she was not far at all from challenging even Ninrusco's hard-earned skills. She was indeed reasonably masculinely in strength and was powerful of wit, a 'shrew' that needed taming, but everyone understood. For many tales had been told of her father Eärnur, who found more lust and passion in fighting than anything else, and almost took no wife in the desire to be one of the best in Middle-Earth.

Calm and maintaining her composure (and not wearing leggings as much), Fëaruin walked through the vast greatness of the kingdom, hoping to come across Avardelothien or Menellómë. Though she was not as beautiful as an Elf she was no doubt growing with an innocent youthful beauty, and for that many Elves loved to see her and her auburn mane- and the way the sun made it blaze like a red flame… like a _ruin_, which was her name. It was different to the many brown and golden heads of the Elves, which made her something of intriguing scarcity to them.

Easily noticeable was this famous brown-red hair, which the young messenger followed as he ran through the trees.

"Lady Fëaruin!" he called. Fëaruin turned.

"Yes?" she questioned, before she had a chance to look at the Elf she was speaking to. Her breath was caught as she beheld him, so beautiful and fair; his dark hair was long and slender, falling upon his back in the most sensuous way she could imagine. He was clad in a messenger's uniform, black and brown and silver; it perfectly outlined the athletic shape of his slim body, and Fëaruin could hardly move as she ran her eyes over his form, a living being of magnificence, believing she had never seen such a beautiful creature in her life.

The young Elf puffed, weary from trying to follow the Fire-Dragon of Gondor. "King Thranduil wishes to see you, Lady Urulókë."

"Now?" Fëaruin asked, puzzled. But she enjoyed the soft voice, and at that moment she- the shrew of shrews- thought something inside her stirred to hear it. However, she wrinkled her nose and stubbornly dismissed it, believing it to be nothing.

"Yes. It is very important."

"I will go, then. Lead the way," she replied softly, and did not hesitate at all to follow the attractive messenger to Thranduil's chambers. Suddenly the young Elf was brought back to a strange memory of something that had occurred thirteen years before, when he had first seen Fëaruin fast asleep, and she was just a little child… so small and innocent. She had definitely changed, he perceived; more lovely was her young face and more womanly was her youthful shape, graceful with a supple outline and yet slender with a firm strength.

__

_Of course,_ he smirked, narrowing his eyes.

And this surprised Fëaruin: as soon as he had brought her outside Thranduil's chambers he turned and smiled at her, his eyes filled with the glimmer of unknown purpose and intent.

"I will return soon," he uttered slowly, "for we are not yet finished."

Fëaruin did not know what he implied, but his words were warm and promising as well as suspicious, so she merely beamed innocently at the young one before turning to face the large doors. The Elf turned and left without haste, only leaving behind a fleeting, and yet immeasurably deep, gaze. Somehow… it made Fëaruin feel only worse about what Thranduil was going to tell her.

Taking a deep breath and opening the door, her unease was heightened as she perceived that everyone was seated there, watching intently as she entered. Thranduil sat in a high chair on a raised platform, with his offspring; Legolas on the left and Avardelothien to his right. Menellómë, much taller now (due to three-quarters Elven blood which none save Legolas knew of) sat next to her unbeknownst father, even more beautiful than before- in fact moreso than he. Ninrusco, who had changed very little, sat next to his wife Avardelothien to whom he had now been married for eight years.

Fëaruin also wondered why five Men also sat in the room, Men who looked very important, and their seats formed a circle when joined on with Ninrusco's and Menellómë's. Whatever business they had, she knew that it could not be good. The Men's faces were so grave…

"Come, Fëaruin," Thranduil called, beckoning for her to stand before him. She obeyed the King instantly, though her heart was pounding, and she was reluctant to hear whatever it was he had to tell.

"Aye, King Thranduil…?"

"These are some of your father's ambassadors from Gondor," Thranduil held out a hand and pointed to the Men behind her, "and they come bearing some news which may be very important to you."

"What… what is it?" Fëaruin asked. The faces of the Men looked so grim to her, and it looked as though it was difficult for them to speak; and so, much to Fëaruin's discomfort Thranduil spoke for them.

"Urulókë, your grandfather has passed away," he spoke slowly.

"Oh Elbereth…" she covered her mouth with her hand, unable to believe the tidings. She knew she should have returned home earlier to see him in his elder days, but Mirkwood was so intriguing, she could not abandon it. She remembered days spent with him, the cheerful old Man… but for some reason, no tear betrayed her. She was sorrowful, and her head was bowed; but somehow she could not weep…

Thranduil gave her one short moment to mourn, before he continued. "That is not all, Fëaruin. Your father Prince Eärnur has now been crowned King. You must remember that though Queen Ellasil your mother is the blood mother of Ninrusco, your father is not his blood father. You must return home to Gondor and fulfil your duties as Crown Princess, new Heir to the throne."

Fëaruin stared in disbelief, for though she knew that Thranduil had not meant to say such bold words, she felt as though he were shooing her away. "Your highness, what are you saying?"

Thranduil was for a short moment silent. "…These messengers from Gondor have come to take you home."

These words horrified Fëaruin. "Home? But I hardly remember my home… and I know not how to be Crown Princess!"

"Have you no sense of duty?" Legolas finally spoke, annoyed. "Is your people not more important than what you want? Many look up to you, Fëaruin, even some of the Elves of Mirkwood. They see you as one who values the needs of your kingdom, especially when you abandoned your home for thirteen years to come and help Ninrusco, Avardelothien, Mirkwood and Gondor all in one. If you wish to have them keep your views, then let me advise you; go home!"

"We will miss you, Fëaruin…" Avardelothien uttered sorrowfully, "but Legolas is right. We can visit you in Gondor sometimes, since Menellómë, Ninrusco and I have not duties that are as significant as those of Father's, or Legolas'…"

"You could stay here another week," Thranduil suggested. "That shall give you time to gather your belongings and say farewell to Mirkwood and your Elven friends, as well as to give time for our guests from Gondor rest awhile before you are ready. But after a week, you must return home. King Eärnur and Queen Ellasil have asked for you."

This brought Fëaruin to silence. They had not even let her speak as they themselves continued speaking; and now that she had a chance to speak, she no longer had anything to say. Defeated, she bowed before the King and nodded, leaving the room to ready her possessions as the door shut fast behind her.

*****

Later in the day, Legolas was searching for his father when Fëaruin walked past, bumping into his shoulder. However, she did not say sorry to him at all, and for that he barely kept from rolling his eyes.

"In the name of Eru, Urulókë. I'm sorry, all right?" Legolas yelled impatiently. "I did not mean to speak to you the way I did, so give up this foolish nature of trying to avoid me!"

"Yes, you did," Fëaruin said as she abruptly ceased walking. "I know you did mean well, but speaking kind words in a tone as though you are shooing me… no, I had naught to say to that then. And neither do I have aught to say to you now."

"Honestly, you _are_ true to have a fiery nature," Legolas narrowed his eyes. "Remind me to take you with me the next time I face a Balrog, for I believe you will frighten it to death quite easily."

Fëaruin turned around calmly. "Oh, what was this you were saying about not speaking to me the way you did?"

"Who _wouldn't_ speak to you in such a manner when you are speaking that way to me also?" he retorted. "You know, I am quite sure I at least had a faint liking or respect for you thirteen years ago when we met, which was perhaps one of those years I cannot remember when you were actually _nice_."

Suddenly, the wind began to change.

The air seemed to become thick and hot at that moment, a raging fire burning the surroundings as Fëaruin narrowed her eyes. Trying to suppress the rage that threatened to erupt, she clenched her fists into two tight balls and howled, "You dare to insult me?!"

*****

"I must be honest… I'm going to miss her," Avardelothien said as she walked overcome by confusion and sorrow.

"Yes, so will I. Even if she _is_ an irritating nuisance of a sister," Ninrusco sighed, his hand clasping his wife's.

Seeing this, Menellómë smiled. "Well, you _did_ say that we could always visit her since we don't have duties as…"

"Ssh!" Ninrusco hissed suddenly. "What is that sound?"

Hearing the shrill sound of distant voices, Avardelothien, Ninrusco and Menellómë instantly looked to each other, knowing it could only be one thing; the cries of an argument. Knowing trouble may be afoot, they hurried in the direction of the sound, hoping that there was nothing wrong.

But their hopes were shattered as they reached the origin of the voices and came to the sight of Legolas with his hands on his hips, trying to get through to the mind of Fëaruin who was ignorantly holding out a hand with its palm upright. All of a sudden to their shock Legolas drew out a sword from his belt, and as a shocked reaction to this Fëaruin snatched up two white knives from inside her cloak with a speed that was so quick that it seemed as though the blades had just suddenly appeared from thin air. The only thing that prevented the three spectators from believing that they were merely about to practice their skills was the fact that they were scowling at each other, and that they were cursing at each other in Elvish _and_ Westron speech whilst pointing their blades at each other.

"You coward," Legolas laughed. "The only way you can make yourself feel better is to attack me with knives. What kind of coward would do that, eh, _Nadorhuan_?"

Fëaruin narrowed her eyes. "You should know it for defense, unless your skull is so thick that it is too heavy even to be used as a paperweight. You were the one who drew out that blade first! But tell me, _agaryulnaer,_ are you too faint-hearted for a duel? For it seemed likely that a duel would occur when you drew out that sword, to strive until one loses their weapon, though perhaps from the beginning you were too thickheaded to realize that yourself. _Amin feuya ten' lle… Dolle ná lost!_"

"Of course. Why would you want to wound me when you do not have the ability to do so?" Legolas sneered. "What was this I heard many years ago about surpassing males in fighting?"

"Stop! Stoooooooop!" Ninrusco and Avardelothien yelled incredulously, as they ran over and parted them by running in between. "What happened here??"

"She started it," Legolas said calmly.

"I did not, blasphemer!" Fëaruin glared, as they pointed at each other. Ninrusco lost his temper.

"What do you two think you are? Children?" he yelled. "You are the Crown Prince of Mirkwood! And _you_, although not officially until you return to Minas Tirith, are the Crown Princess of Gondor! Now apologize and make up, and be glad that I am merely a Prince for otherwise I would smack you both like children!"

Avardelothien released Fëaruin, who shook her off her back in a very harsh way- even for Fëaruin- whilst Ninrusco released Legolas. Legolas looked at his sister and her husband with discomfort; and sighing in defeat he held out a hand as an indication of apology.

"Very well," he said _very_ slowly, with evident hesitation. "I _am_ after all Crown Prince and therefore I had no right to arouse anger or raise my voice to a… Lady. I am very sorry Fëaruin for insulting you, for I did not mean to. I ask forgiveness for losing my temper. Friends?"

Fëaruin narrowed her eyes at Legolas, and even though she had the obligation to shake his hand and rightly make amends she could not help but notice the hidden irritation in his face. She was now the same status as he and knew that she also had no right to arouse anger so she held out a hand as well. But before he could take it and shake it as a gesture of friendship, she snatched her hand away, sticking out her tongue before running off as fast as her legs could carry her in the opposite direction. Legolas shrieked and followed behind, not noticing the small book that fell out of his pocket onto the ground.

"Like children," Ninrusco and Avardelothien chorused, before running after them with worry and irritation.

Menellómë was left alone, with nothing to do, and no interest in Legolas' childish outburst. But noticing the book Legolas had dropped she picked it up and read the cover. It was written in Elvish, in the Fëanorian letters of Tengwar, but though she had never learnt to read Tengwar before she was able to understand it: _Alatamoth_.

'Why does Legolas have a book whose cover has the name with which he calls me?' mused Menellómë. 'And how in the name of the Valar did I learn to read Elvish?'

Opening the book to the first page, she realized it was a journal by the date written on the top of the page. The page she had opened up to was dated thirteen years ago by now, from the year 2035, the year she had arrived in Mirkwood. In tidy script were the words written in the tongue of the Elves:

Alatamoth. That is the name I give the supposed Menellómë from Gondor. The Heavens' Dusk of Gondor who is truly the Radiant Dusk of Mirkwood!

Alatamoth- or Menellómë as people may call her- may have been lost for years. But she has arrived safely in Mirkwood, and I am relieved. My beautiful daughter is alive…

*****

=MUCH LATER=

Menellómë had by now been missing for hours. She had missed supper, and even though the cooks spared her the rightful equal share she was not yet found to consume it. It began with Ninrusco and Fëaruin, looking for her to call her to dinner- yet when she was not found, they asked for the help of Avardelothien and Legolas. They had split up and searched just about every corner of Northern Mirkwood, and now that she still could not be found, they had even called for the help of King Thranduil in the extreme measures.

So the five stood outside in the cold evening, waiting for Menellómë to appear. They had almost lost all hope, as search parties had been sent out with no success- and each was overridden with grief and worry. Beforehand Fëaruin and Legolas had been punished by Avardelothien and Ninrusco, because it was during their argument that Menellómë was last seen- by chaining his elbow to her ankle, and not releasing them until they truly apologized and made up. Or at least they pretended to, whilst in their minds pleasuring in the thought of feeding each other to Cave Trolls.

It was the first day of her final week in Mirkwood, and Fëaruin had more things to think about than Avardelothien's annoying brother who she was very tempted to hit over the head with a stone vessel. But her frightened thoughts of being Crown Princess- the very same status as her mother before she was crowned Queen just recently- was interrupted as Menellómë entered the scene. Her clothes were torn and she was wounded in the forehead and her arms, and blood stained her gown, so that the brilliant silver was now almost completely red. Her hair was matted and stained with blood and earth, and she sported a large bruise that ran from her upper cheek down to her slender neck.

Everyone gave a sigh of relief as they saw her arrive, but Legolas gave a cry of horror as he threw himself at her and embraced her so tightly, unable to look upon the condition in which she was openly presenting herself.

"Menellómë, where were you?" he almost wept. "Where did you go? What happened to you?"

But Menellómë only slowly shook her head. "No need to call me by that name my Lord," she slurred. "I thought that to you I am Alatamoth."

Legolas could not let her out of his arms, as he kissed the wounded forehead. "What happened, Alatamoth?"

A smile came from Menellómë, almost unnoticeable and yet if visible was very eerie. "I deliberately threw myself from a tree down into a ravine of flat stones, but I do not regret the four hours of immeasurable pain and deep sleep, my Lord Legolas. I remember everything now."

Legolas was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"My memory was lost when I collapsed in Minas Tirith that day," she explained weakly, "but after eighteen years of not knowing my past- or perhaps in my desire to forget I really _did_ end up losing my memory- I finally remember everything. I remember Lady Finlos in her room, braiding my hair. I remember her in her werewolf form, dragging me along the ground. I remember when you killed her and set me free, and how you told me to run, and I rode and camped for many days until I reached Minas Tirith where I was abandoned by Mornië Maránwë."

"Mornië Maránwë was Finlos' horse," Avardelothien breathed. "How in the name of Varda did you…"

"Shut your mouth, sister," Legolas commanded icily, and turned back to Menellómë. "Listen to me, Alatamoth. Let us talk of this elsewhere. We must not…"

"Why elsewhere? Are you embarrassed my Lord?" Menellómë shook herself free from his undesirable embrace with the last of her strength. "Embarrassed that Middle-Earth will end up knowing I am the blood daughter of you and Lady Finlos?"

At this she drew his small journal out of her bloodstained cloak, and tossed it at him, before slowly turning and walking away. Sighing, he shook his head and ignored the horrified looks that everyone was giving him, running after Menellómë in the hope that he would not lose her once again.

*****

"Lady! Lady Fëaruin!"

Upon turning around, the first thing Fëaruin saw was a familiar fair face belonging to the figure walking towards her. His dark brown hair hung below his shoulders, and when he moved it shimmered a glossy shade of rather a dark red-brown, making him very pleasant to look at. It was Thranduil's Elven messenger that had before called upon her when she was about to find out about the death of her grandfather and her new status as heir, and so she recognized him instantly, with his warm and friendly smile. Suddenly she was reminded of what he had said to her that same day; but she tried to ignore the thought, smiling back at the Elf.

"Oh, 'tis you, I remember you. What is the matter?"

The young one walked forward and bowed, respectfully hiding his eyes from the Crown Princess. "Lady Fëaruin, my name is Anarórë. I am a messenger of King Thranduil and I would like to make an appeal."

"And what may that be?"

Anarórë rose, though his head remained somewhat down. "If it is not trouble for you I would like to join your five kin from Gondor and escort you to Minas Tirith."

Fëaruin was surprised, and did not understand. "Why so?"

"I… I just do not like the idea of you, Crown Princess, to be escorted by strange Men," he explained. He was lying, of course, for he had other reasons to go to the White City; though in it there _was_ some grain of truth.

"I know you just as little as I know those ambassadors from Gondor, master Elf. Does not that also mean that I am still escorted by a stranger should you accompany me on this road?"

Anarórë nodded; he was a little hurt by her words, but he knew she had a perfectly good reason to utter them. "We are both young, Lady Fëaruin; I believe we could easily be friends before the travel even begins- I doubt that same friendship with your father's Men could have an equal compatibility. I will not be a stranger to you the day we leave Mirkwood," he stated, but then he lowered his head a little. "I… I also have some old friends in Minas Tirith that I wish to visit."

"I understand," she nodded. "Have you spoken to King Thranduil of this, Anarórë messenger of Mirkwood?"

"Not yet," he replied honestly, "but I wanted to make sure that you would not mind before I ask the King for a temporary leave from my duties for him here."

"Very well. We shall speak to King Thranduil of it, though I do not know whether he would like an additional figure in the company," she began to walk, and beckoned for him to follow. "Come with me."

*****

Legolas walked up to Menellómë, who sat alone on a flattened tree stump. A look of compassion and love passed his eyes as he perceived the sadness that seemed to glimmer in her eyes, and her festering wounds that were still untreated. He took a seat next to her at once, hoping she would not move away- and luckily for him, she didn't.

"I'm sorry, Alatamoth," he mumbled.

Menellómë shook her head. "No, _I'm_ sorry. It was not your fault. I should not have yelled at you."

"I was… selfish," he confessed, bowing his head. "I did not want anyone to know about you when your mother conceived you. I hid her away in her chambers and refused to let her come out, or others to come in, because I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I, being an Elf that is considered superior to other beings, could have a child with one who is half Hobbit. But now that means nothing to me, that Finlos your mother is only half Elf, or who in the world is a superior or inferior being. I'm sorry that she passed away and I just wish that she was back here with me, to return things to the way they were when my life, bound with hers, was worth something!"

"Is that why you said nothing when I arrived?" Menellómë inquired, for everything was now beginning to make sense. "Is it because you were afraid I would tell people if you told me my past?"

"…Yes," Legolas was filled with shame. "Things are becoming so amiss! Because of this my father will probably cast us out into the wild! We will be exiles, for keeping such a sinful secret and daring to hope that it will die with those who know of it. And you know, it may not be so bad if your mother is here, Alatamoth, for Finlos was the only one who seemed to know how to thread my life together. But I killed her. I have been miserable for eighteen years with a grief that has never left me because there _is_ no life to live without love!"

"And that is exactly why we plan not to cast you out at all."

Legolas and Menellómë snatched their heads up at the sound of familiar voices, and both cringed when they perceived who it was. Thranduil stood before them, with Ninrusco and Avardelothien standing on one side, and Fëaruin on the other. Thranduil came forward and compassionately placed a hand on his son's shoulder, and the shoulder of his now acknowledged granddaughter.

"What is this shame you speak of?" asked Thranduil. "Could you not trust us at all that you had to keep this beautiful maiden secret from us because we would not accept her? Well, you know perfectly well that we accepted Finlos, did we not? You are my son, Legolas. I love you, and only a father not in their right mind would cast out his son for a reason that through great care for his lover the very choice of his heart had conceived a child for him."

Legolas was surprised. "I thought… I thought you may have been disgusted. My daughter's mother is only _half_-Elven! So Alatamoth, she has Hobbit blood within her. You… you are not revolted at all to hear this?"

"Nay, Legolas, not even if she is a bastard child, which I'm sure she's not."

"No, she is not. Finlos and I were already wed when Alatamoth was conceived," Legolas sighed, relieved.

"There, you see? Welcome, my granddaughter," Thranduil smiled, embracing Menellómë. Legolas grinned, unable to believe his luck. Avardelothien embraced her next, kissing the brown head.

"My niece," she squealed, joyful. Menellómë was happy, and she returned every hug, the longest embrace being with her father; they were all honest with each other now- so both she and Legolas were relieved.

'Now that one thing is done, I will decide upon Anarórë's appeal…' Thranduil turned to Fëaruin, suddenly altering his speech into Elvish. 'What was it he said was the reason that he wanted to go to Gondor?'

Fëaruin was surprised, for the King seldom spoke to her in his own tongue, and so she replied in Elvish as well.

'I am not sure. Something along the lines of desiring to visit friends who are of the Edain, just for a little while. Perhaps you could give him leave awhile from his duties as Messenger in Mirkwood? His plan was to travel with my father's kin and I, then in Minas Tirith go our separate ways.'

Menellómë was amazed; for she had spent many years now without memory believing that she had not known how to speak the language of the Elves. Yet the King of Mirkwood and the Princess of Gondor were now speaking to each other in that language, and she was able to understand every word, derived from the days before her memory was first lost. It was unusual to her, and yet she enjoyed it.

'Very well,' Thranduil nodded. 'He has been a very faithful subject to me, and I shall grant him his request for leave as my gift to him. But the purpose is not lost that he was taken from his Elven family in his childhood. After rest with his Edain friends for one month at most I request that he must return at once to Mirkwood- or better yet- to the abode of your father, to be a helping hand in his duties as new King. A messenger he will be to King Eärnur, if that is not a discomfort to either of you. I will send a messenger myself a month after you leave to make sure that he returns in time to the White Tower.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Fëaruin nodded, and thus she left.

To be continued…

  



End file.
